Cacophony
by WindeSprite
Summary: AU Sango, an NYU student and the Principal Cellist of the college orchestra, auditions to be in the background orchestra for a movie. Fully expecting to make the Principal position, she doesn't feel particularly friendly to the man who does...
1. Movement I: Largo

**Cacophony**

**-x-**

**Movement I: **_**Largo**_****

**-**

-

-

It was just inhumane.

The phone should _not_ be ringing at seven o'clock in the morning.

Sango groaned and flung her hand over towards the nightstand, groping for the phone and, in the processes, knocking her metronome of the stand. _Marvelous, that'll take me another fifteen minutes to find_. She finally found the phone and picked up. "H'lo?"

"Sango?"

"Kagome." She groaned and covered her face with her pillow. "What do you want?"

"Some way to treat your savior. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Seven-oh-three a.m.," she promptly replied. "Way too early to be calling a college student who lives off various nighttime concerts. Speaking of which, what are _you _doing up so early?"

"Oh, I don't know…just that little thing called an _audition_."

Sango froze. "What audition." That sinking feeling was settling in her stomach again…

"The audition for the background orchestra for that new movie? At eight o'clock this morning?"

"_Shit_." Sango bolted out of bed, tripping over her music stand and barreling into the wall. "Ouch! Goddammit…"

"Such language so early in the morning," Kagome chided.

"Shut it. Aw, man…I can't believe I forgot about that. I didn't go to bed until three this morning."

"The concert was over at eleven!"

"I went partying with a few violins and a bass…" She ripped off her pajamas and fumbled through her drawers for her black clothes.

"That explains it. Had you gone with the brass section, you wouldn't have fallen into bed till dawn. Heck, you'd just be swaggering through the front door right now."

"Ha ha. I think I'll relay that comment to Inuyasha and see how he takes it."

"Please do. I'm mad at him."

"Oh?" There they were. Sango pushed the speakerphone button and began to pull on her audition outfit while Kagome talked.

"He saw Kikyo again last night."

"His old girlfriend?"

"Yeah, apparently she was in the audience and went backstage to see him and invited him to go clubbing. Unfortunately, at that exact moment Koga was giving me his usual speech, so of course Inuyasha's jealous tendencies prompt him to agree…"

"And then he got drunk and did something regrettable," Sango finished, buckling the belt on her black pants and straightening the collar on her black polo shirt.

"How'd you know?" Kagome sounded surprised.

Sango paused her search for her black boots. "Did he really? I was being sarcastic… oh please tell me they didn't sleep together or anything…"

"No, just made out. Heavily. In front of me."

For the second time that morning, Sango tripped over her music stand. "What?!" she yelled into the phone, nearly deafening Kagome. "He did _what_!"

"Yeah. He didn't see me, but Kikyo did, and she took advantage of the moment. She always was resentful towards me for 'taking her place.'"

"Bullshit." Where were her socks?

"Yeah. He claims that he wasn't in his right mind and is now calling me every five minutes to try and 'tell me his side of the story.'"

"Not to apologize huh?" She yanked on the second black boot and ran a hand through her hair.

"Nope."

"Well, turn your phone off and use the excuse that you aren't allowed to have it on during auditions. Which you're not." Sango coughed pointedly.

"It _always_ rings during the rests. I swear Inuyasha has the room bugged and calls specifically at those times."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Where are you?"

"At the studio, waiting for someone to come unlock the door."

"An hour early?"

"My reed broke last night; I need to break this new one in."

"Gotcha." Sango checked her watch. 7:15 a.m. She cursed again. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Let me load Kirara and my music into a taxi and choke down some coffee."

"See you soon." _Click_.

Sango threw the phone back onto the hook and raced into the bathroom. Screw makeup, she didn't have time for it today.

At exactly 7:24 a.m. she burst out of her apartment with Kirara strapped onto her back and her music bag slung over her shoulder, taking the steps two at a time to reach the lobby in exactly three minutes.

She burst out of the front doors to the customary hustle and bustle of the city. Frantically checking her watch, she decided that she couldn't waste time flagging down a taxi (and the traffic already looked horrific) so she took off walking down the sidewalk at a brisk pace.

This elicited many stares from fellow pedestrians. One man had the nerve to ask her what the hell she was doing.

She sent him an icy glare. "You've never seen anyone speed-walking with a cello on their back before? Where do you come from, Mars? It's all the rage nowadays."

-

-

-

"Okay, Inuyasha, calm down and tell me this again. Slowly." Miroku lazily took another sip of coffee and checked his watch. 7:16 a.m. He still had plenty of time.

"Bitch refuses to speak to me," Inuyasha shouted through the phone, his voice echoing throughout the small café. Miroku smiled placidly at the curious looks from the other customers. Most of the people who frequented this café were musicians, since the joint was so nicely placed just across the street from the main recording studio. And musicians were used to drama, so naturally, they were anxious to hear the entire conversation.

"Why is this?"

"She saw me and Kikyo together last night," his friend admitted grudgingly.

"Just together?"

"…okay, kissing."

"_Just_ kissing?"

"Fine, so maybe we were making out. But she started it! I was dead drunk; I hadn't a clue what was going on."

"Ah. You _are _in trouble."

"I'll say."

"If you want my personal opinion…"

"Miroku, I'm willing to try anything now. She is majorly pissed. She just finished talking with her best friend who never liked me in the first place, and according to her voicemail, she's turned her phone off because she has an audition—"

"An audition?" An idea began to form in his mind. "For what?"

"Background music for some movie, I don't know. I wasn't really listening."

"Maybe if you appreciated her more, she wouldn't be so mad."

"I wasn't asking for a lecture!"

"Don't yell at _me_, Inuyasha, I could very well save your life today. Is she possibly going to be at the Shikon no Tama recording studio at 8 o'clock this morning? Think _really _hard."

"Yeah…I think that's what it was called. Why? You gonna be there or something?"

"I'll talk to her for you."

"You will?" Inuyasha sounded relieved. "Thanks, man, I owe you one." He paused. "But let me warn you—watch out for her friend: she's extremely overprotective. And she has the habit of using her instrument as a weapon against those who annoy her."

"Don't worry, I have a weapon of my own. I can handle myself." He checked his watch again. 7:30 a.m. "I should go now. I need to warm up."

"All right. Hey, tell me how it goes."

"Of course. Bye." Miroku hung up the phone, finished his coffee and placed a few coins on the table. He hefted his instrument onto his back and strolled out of the café.

-

-

-

The Shikon no Tama Recording Studio hosted many recording sessions for minor movies produced in New York City. It was rather well-known among college-age musicians who made extra money off of recording background music for films that sometimes pulled in enough money to make a profit, but were mostly shown in small theatres for the sole purpose of being another title to add to the marquee on movie theatres. Still, musicians who played the background music made a nice paycheck that usually contributed to the rent of an apartment, or lunch money for the next month or so.

Of course, the Principal Chair musicians always received an extra $50 to that sum of money—which naturally created extreme competition between those auditioning for the position. It was usually college students who auditioned; although the random down-on-his-luck professional player would occasionally stumble into the audition room, most professional found higher-paying jobs, or even recorded for major film studios.

And that fact that they were auditioning against their classmates only made the students that much more competitive.

-

-

-

_One little two little three little taxis._

Kagome drummed her fingers against her oboe case, wondering why no one had bothered to show up and open the door yet. Wasn't showing up early to practice encouraged? She shivered, wishing she'd warn something more substantial than a black corduroy skirt, cotton shirt, jean jacket, and tights.

_Four little five little six little pedestrians._

Sitting on the stoop of a recording studio in Greenwich Village was not the best place to be. How many times had Inuyasha warned her about putting herself in vulnerable situations? She considered taking out her oboe and practicing right then and there—that would certainly scare people away.

Then again, it was a $10,000 instrument. Someone just might decide to steal it and leave her in the gutter.

Lovely thoughts, Kagome.

_Seven little eight little nine little druggies._

Where was Sango? It shouldn't have taken her this long to get here. Perhaps she should try calling her again? No, that would entail turning her phone on. Which meant Inuyasha could potentially call her.

Forget it.

A man stopped in front of her and peered down at her questioningly. "You lost?"

"No, I'm quite aware of where I am, thanks," she snapped, letting her English accent slip in.

His grin widened. "British, eh? I love English girls."

Dammit. So much for the intimidation tactic. "Actually, I'm Japanese. But all my professors taught in an English rather than American dialect."

"Even better. I love Asian girls even more."

Now she was getting really freaked out. She scrambled to her feet and backed towards the door, holding her oboe in front of her like a weapon. "My grandparents bombed Pearl Harbor."

"The past can be forgiven." He advanced towards her.

"My country's economy is doing better than yours!"

"Think I give a damn about money? As long as I got enough to buy my booze…" He chuckled drunkenly, his red eyes flashing. His lank hair fell over his shoulders grotesquely.

"I'll call my boyfriend!" she threatened as a last-ditch attempt, fishing the cell phone out of her pocket. "Be afraid—be very afraid! He's a black belt in Tae Kwon Do."

"As am I." The man was three feet away from her now. "Don't be scared—I'll be gentle, I promise."

"That won't be necessary," another voice spoke up.

Kagome peered around The Freak and sighed in relief.

_Ten little musicians here_.

The violet-eyed man at the front of the group stepped forward. "What are you doing, Naraku? Assaulting freshmen again?"

"Aw, Houshi, I was just having a little fun…"

"Go choke on a drumstick." The man called Houshi deftly pulled a percussion mallet out of Naraku's back pocket and flipped it through his fingers before using it to whack The Freak on the head. "Get lost."

Naraku glared at snatched his mallet back, stalking off towards the café across the street, narrowly missing a few cars.

Kagome simply stared in amazement.

"Percussion thug," Houshi said matter-of-factly. "Don't mind him; there are a few loose screws jiggling around in his head. But, really, it isn't safe to be outside here all by yourself. Are you waiting for someone?"

Kagome shook her head. "The door's locked, and—"

The man chuckled. "Poor freshie—no one told you?"

"Huh?"

He stooped down and pulled a key out from under the foot mat. "Voilà." With flourish he unlocked the door and held it open.

The crowd of musicians behind him jokingly clapped and cheered before piling into the studio. Houshi turned and winked at Kagome, extending his hand. "Miroku Yamaguchi."

"Kagome Higurashi. Thanks for saving me."

"Saving damsels in distress is my specialty." Then he blinked. "Did you say Kagome Higurashi?"

"Yeah. You've heard of me?"

A mischievous look crossed his face. "First chair oboe of the Wind Ensemble at NYU, right?"

She blushed a bit, not used to people knowing her. "Yes."

"Freshman, correct?"

"Mmhm."

"Well, it was nice meeting you. Do well in your audition."

"Thank you, and the same to you." She moved to enter the studio, then paused, feeling as if she should repay him somehow—even if Naraku _was_ harmless. "If you ever need a favor, don't hesitate to call me."

He smiled widely. "I just may take you up on that offer."

She smiled back and entered the studio, her confidence bolstered. She was going to go into that audition room and kick ass.

-

-

-

7:45 a.m.

"Damn…it…damn…it…" Sango chanted with each step. At least the studio was in sight now. Although she'd barely have time to run through a few scales and _maybe_ the audition material before it was time to perform.

There was a lone man standing on the stoop beneath the blue awning that proudly proclaimed "Shikon no Tama Recording Studio." She sprinted the last few feet and reached for the door, breathing heavily.

The man, who was talking on his cell phone, opened the door for her, his violet eyes locking with hers.

She nodded her thanks and dashed into the studio, briefly noting the cello strapped to the man's back. He must not be taking the audition very seriously if he was standing outside chatting on his cell phone with only 15 minutes to spare.

She began to breathe a little easier. Maybe competition wasn't going to be so bad. Maybe today she'd play the best audition ever. Maybe today God was feeling generous.

"Sango!" Kagome flew out from around the corner and grabbed her hand, breaking out into a run. "Hurry, they've started the auditions early! You have five minutes to be set and ready to play!"

…or maybe this was about to become the worst day all year.

-

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-

"Kagome Higurashi, right?" Miroku confirmed. "Thought so. Yep, I just saved her from Naraku… no, he didn't lay a finger on her. He's mentally deranged, but so far he he's never actually _hurt_ anyone…"

Miroku's gaze locked on a woman in black jogging down the sidewalk, a cello case on her back. Hmm…he'd never seen her before. Perhaps she was a freshman as well? He'd have to make her acquaintance after the audition…

She reached for the door, breathing heavily. He opened the door for her, barely aware that Inuyasha was jabbering into his ear. Her silky brown hair was extremely long—it fell just above her rear…

_Nice ass…_

She nodded her thanks and disappeared into the studio. Miroku stared into space for a full minute after she'd disappeared. She had magenta eyes…he'd never seen anything so beautiful…

"Miroku? Yo, buozo, you there? Hellooooooo?"

"Huh?" He snapped out of his daydream. "Sorry, Inuyasha, you were saying…?"

"I said, invite her to dinner."

"What?" He was still thinking about the magenta-eyed maiden. "Already? But I just met her…"

"This isn't for your pleasure, moron! This is about saving my ass! Just ask her out to dinner, and then conveniently have _me _sitting at your table instead."

"Oh, you're talking about Kagome?"

"…Were you listening to a thing I said?"

"Of course. Just…I have five minutes before this audition begins. I'll call you back later." He snapped his phone shut and picked up his cello, entering the studio.

-

-

-

"So…how do you think you did?" Sango asked around her peanut butter sandwich.

"Pretty well, I think," replied Kagome cheerfully, licking the last bit of yogurt off her spoon. The two friends were sitting on a bench in a small park, enjoying their bag lunches. When registering, they'd purposely put all of their classes in the afternoon so they had the mornings to practice, talk, or finish up homework. "There were only three oboes who auditioned, and the one had severe tuning issues, so it shouldn't be too hard of a competition."

"That's good." Sango crushed an ant with her shoe, staring at the ground.

"How did yours go?"

"Not too bad. I could have done better…I rushed a little too much in the fast excerpt, but other than that, I think it went okay. Unfortunately, there were a lot of people I didn't recognize auditioning. I'm not worried about the other NYU people…but those from other colleges…"

"I'm sure you did fine," Kagome said breezily. "You're principal chair of the Symphony Orchestra, you've won the concerto competition and how many other awards?"

"And yet there are still tons of people a million times better than me." Sango frowned and licked the excess peanut butter off her fingers. "I don't know how they do it. I still have to finish my Psychology and Anatomy assignments before I run off to class."

"Don't worry about it, you'll get it done."

Sango gave Kagome a look. "You're in an awfully good mood. Did something happen?"

"Hm? Oh, not really. Just…you remember that guy I told you about? The one that saved me from Naraku?"

"Yeah…"

"He asked me to dinner tonight." Kagome smiled happily. "You know what this means, right?"

"You're finally over Inuyasha?"

Kagome laughed. "Sorry, Sango-chan, not anytime soon. No, this means that Inuyasha will get insanely jealous—like usual—and shower me with fluff and stuff until I feel like forgiving him."

"Bastard," said Sango under her breath.

"Hey, I take offense to that; he does have his good points."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. He's still a bastard." He hurt Kagome way too much.

"Maybe I should hook you and Miroku up after Inuyasha comes to his senses," Kagome said thoughtfully. "He's really good-looking. And he plays the cello too."

Sango barked out a laugh. "Hook me up with potential competition? That would be a pleasant date. And besides, I'm off guys, remember?"

"You'll give in eventually." The blue-eyed girl nodded confidently.

"You wish." Sango crumpled her brown paper bag into a ball and lobbed it into the trash can. "Score. Let's go talk a nice, long walk to campus to clear our heads."

"Sounds good to me."

-

-

-

Sango turned the page of _Walden_ only to realize that she had no idea what she'd just read. She turned the page back, skimmed a few sentences and found that none of it looked familiar. She turned another five pages back before she found a familiar idea.

_Great._ She slammed the book down on the desk, ignoring the hostile stares of other struggling students who had taken refuge in the library. _I need to get out of this insane asylum._ She gathered her book up into her arms and pulled her side bag onto her shoulder before walking out of the library.

She breathed in the crisp September air, reveling the feeling of being outside. It had rained nonstop the past three days, and since she'd been catching up on studying most of the time, she hadn't really gotten a chance to be outside.

That and it took her so long to do _anything_ since her mind was mostly on the audition. Thank god the results would be posted today. If she was rejected, she would bury herself in work to prove to the world that she wasn't a failure. If she was accepted, she would still bury herself in work so that she could practice twice as long every day.

It was a win-win situation.

Depending on which way you looked at it…

She checked her watch. Noon. Still another hour before the mail was delivered to the campus post office. Maybe she'd go grab a bite to eat at the snack shop near the post office and hope the mail delivery came early.

Her trek took a half hour, she was pleased to discover, and when she neared the snack shop, she noted that it looked more crowded than usual.

_Ah. That's why_. Kagome and Inuyasha were cuddling in one of the seats, and the rest of their band friends were chatting and laughing happily. Being a cellist and part of an orchestra, Sango didn't know many wind players who were only in band, but she liked Kagome's crowd. They were a crazy bunch.

As she came closer, she noticed a few orchestra members as well. _Looks like I wasn't the only one with the idea to wait out the mail_, she thought in amusement.

"Sango!" Kagome called, waving from her place in Inuyasha's lap. "What took you so long? I thought you'd be the first one here!"

"I had a book to doze through," she replied, dropping her texts on a table and nearly knocking it over. "Geez, you think there's a certain weight quota for these things? 'College textbooks cannot be issued unless they weigh a minimum of five pounds.'"

"Probably," a blue-eyed male with abnormally pointed canines and a long black pony-tail said, laughing appreciatively. "I take it you're waiting for the audition results as well?"

"Yep," Sango said, snagging and empty chair.

"Guys, this is my friend Sango," Kagome said, waving her hand at the occupants of the table. "She's the principal cellist in the Symphony Orchestra. Sango, these are my band friends."

"Thanks, Kagome," she muttered. "You don't have to introduce me like that every time, you know."

"Oh, but it's so fun seeing you flustered."

Inuyasha grinned at her over Kagome's head. Kagome's plan to make Inuyasha jealous had backfired when she realized that her date was on Inuyasha's side. However, her boyfriend had dug himself out of the hole with a profuse apology and believable explanation—and the promise of being extra careful around Kikyo from now on.

Sango smiled tightly in response. Kagome was much too forgiving, in her opinion.

"Oh Sango," Kagome said suddenly, "I mentioned you to Miroku and he was _very _interested in taking you out on a date. Apparently the two of you have already met."

"We have?" she said in surprise.

"Mmhm—he was the guy on the cell phone when you flew into the studio with five minutes to spare."

"Oh him?" _The violet-eyed man.__ He was hot_. Sango's cheeks immediately flushed. _Bad thoughts, Sango.__ You've sworn off men, remember? They're all the same: lying, scheming bastards._

"Uh-oh, what's that blush for?" Inuyasha teased.

"Shut up, Yasha," she said, knowing that the nickname would make him squirm.

He winced.

Kagome grinned wickedly. "If you make Principal cellist, will you go out with him?"

"Absolutely not."

"If you make principal cellist _and_ I buy you a new CD, then will you go out with him?"

Sango raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so determined to find me a date?"

"You need some men in your life. Heck, even your instrument is female. One date won't kill you, Sango. It's been how long since you've been on one of those?"

"Three months, two weeks, and five days."

The blue-eyed man choked on his soda. "You've been keeping track?"

Sango smiled sweetly. "It's easy to win converts when you have your own track record."

"Damn, woman," he muttered.

A man with a white mohawk suddenly shot to his feet. "Ook! Eee's eeere!"

"Try taking the mouthpiece out of the mouth, Hakakku," Inuyasha said dryly.

The guy pulled the sax mouthpiece out of his mouth and repeated, "Look! He's here!"

"Who's here?" a man with a long, black braid and a purple diamond tattooed on his forehead asked patiently.

"The mailman!"

The crowd of students rocketed out of their chairs at the same time and made a dash for the post office counter. A baby faced boy whose nametag proclaimed "HOJO" looked slightly overwhelmed. "Whoa, guys," he said. "Calm down—everyone will get their mail, I promise." He spotted Kagome and his face brightened. "Miss Higurashi!"

Inuyasha growled protectively and pulled Kagome closer to him. Kagome rolled her eyes at her boyfriend's antics and replied, "Hello, Hojo. How are you doing today?"

"Fine, thank you. Are you here for your mail?"

"No, she's here to buy some over-the-counter drugs," Inuyasha said under his breath.

Sango surreptitiously stepped on his foot.

Hojo shot them an odd look, but continued shifting through the mail. "Form a line, please, and tell me your name when it's your turn."

Inuyasha elbowed his way to the front of the line, shoving Kagome in front of him. Hojo presented her a white envelope with a large smile.

"Thank you, Hojo," she said. "Could you find Inuyasha's for me too?"

"Inuyasha Takahashi," he murmured, shuffling through the stack of mail. "Yes, there's one for you too."

Sango, who had somehow gotten pushed to the end of the line, tapped her foot impatiently as each musician took and tore open their letter, eagerly pouring over the contents. When she finally received hers, she made her way to where Kagome and Inuyasha were standing. Kagome was grinning from ear to ear—as was Inuyasha.

"Sango!" she cried. "I made Principal chair oboe!"

Sango wrapped her friend in a hug. "Congratulations! That's wonderful! I'm so proud of you!"

"So am I," Inuyasha said, reclaiming Kagome.

"You're just glad she won't be moody and irritable anymore," Sango corrected with a smile.

"Er…I don't know what you're talking about!" Inuyasha, who only played the trumpet so he could be in band with Kagome, didn't understand the anxiety and tension of waiting for a response. He preferred to play his bass guitar at nightclubs rather than compete on a wind instrument.

"Open yours, Sango!" Kagome said, bouncing up and down. "Open it!"

"Okay, okay." Taking a deep breath, Sango ripped the flap and pulled out a white sheet of computer paper. "'Dear Miss Taijiya, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the background orchestra for the recording of the movie _In the Shadows_—'"

"Yes!" cried Kagome. "I knew it!"

"'And, because of your exceptional skills on the cello, you have been placed as—'" Sango cut off.

"What?" Kagome moved round to peek over Sango's shoulder. She blinked. "Assistant Principal?" Recovering quickly, she hugged Sango warmly. "That's great, Sango-chan! Assistant is still really tough to make!"

"_Assistant _Principal?" Sango echoed, disappointment lacing through her. She hadn't made Principal chair. What a let-down… And she thought she'd done really well at her audition too!

"Assistant Principal is good, right?" Inuyasha said. "That's still extremely competitive."

"It's a whole $50 difference in my paycheck," snapped Sango.

"Or maybe just a blow on your pride," Inuyasha shot back. "Let it go, Sango. You can't be the best all the time. You almost made it—just try harder next time."

"Almost isn't good enough!" She folded the letter back up and stuffed it into her pocket. "I want to know just _who_ made Principal Cello."

"Shouldn't there be a list at the bottom?" Kagome said, checking her own sheet of paper.

Sango's eyes fell upon the name listed just above hers. "Miroku Hamaguchi."

Inuyasha suddenly had a coughing fit. "The Houshi?"

"Oh…" said Kagome in a small voice. _There goes any chances of hooking the two of them up…_

"Miroku Hamaguchi," Sango repeated, her eyes narrowing. _I have a score to settle with you._

-

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-

_Author's Notes:_ Well, what do you think? It's amazing how inspiration a big, heavy AP American textbook can be. Honestly, I write better with that thing resting in my lap. I am just on a writing rampage today. No school today and tomorrow because of Hurricane Jeanne, so I put my time to good use! (I'm sure my teachers will love to hear that.) Oh, and I was listening to the song "In the Shadows" by Rasmus, so that's why the movie got saddled with that title. XD Please tell me what you thought of this! Tell me the good, the bad, the in-between…


	2. Movement II: Allegro

**Cacophony**

**-x-**

**Movement II: _Allegro_**

-

-

-

The mellow sound of a cello floated through the open window of the apartment complex. On the sidewalks below, some pedestrians paused for a moment to listen to the haunting sound.

And then the shriek of the bow quickly sliding over multiple strings at once with an altered hand positioned shattered the moment. The pedestrians winced and hurried on their way.

Up in the apartment, Sango was restraining herself from chucking her bow across the room. _Every_ time she ran through a passage, her mind would inevitably wander to a certain purple-eyed male and she would lose focus and screw up.

"Damn him," she muttered, playing a simple tune to calm her nerves. The man was gorgeous, she would give him that. Although she was off men, that didn't keep her from looking, did it? She noticed him, obviously, even through her frantic dash into the studio. But that wasn't why he was running through her head.

Yes, she was still miffed that _he _had gotten the Principal position, and she hadn't.

He wasn't a student at NYU—if he was, then he was mental for not being in the orchestra. Unless he'd gotten the position on a fluke?

_No._ That would be even worse than fairly winning the spot. She'd rather believe that he was a talented musician, and she'd just have to work harder next time.

"But a whole fifty dollars more…" She hadn't yet told Kagome that there was a total of forty dollars in her bank account. This month's rent had been paid, but next months? She'd gotten an apartment because her last year her practicing schedule had _not _been compatible with her roommates. All three of them. Sango had odd working habits, she wouldn't deny it. She would practice Kirara for fifteen or twenty minutes, go back to homework, pick it up for another five, read a book, practice for another ten minutes, eat a snack, and so on and so forth. It drove her roommates nuts. At the end of her freshman year, she requested to have an apartment.

Although now that she knew Kagome, maybe the two of them could request a dorm together next year? If she could just hold out on funds until May…

She sighed and pulled a hand through her hair. There would be no money coming from home, she knew that much. Kohaku still needed to be cared for, and New York living was expensive. There was just no excess money to be given to her.

She lived off these various performances. A steady job was nearly impossible with her classes and irregular performances schedule. She worked her butt off to become this good, and now she was only getting paid as much as the third and fourth chair cellos.

_Dammit_. She stood up and gently laid Kirara on her bed. She needed to go for a walk.

-

-

-

Closing his eyes, Miroku ran through the passage again. The music wasn't too difficult, but he was surprised to find that he actually enjoyed it. Most background music he played was simple stuff that sounded good behind gunshots and bar fight scenes. This music was actually composed well.

Finishing the run with a flourish, he carefully laid his cello on the floor and the bow in the case. He needed some fresh air: he'd been cooped up in his apartment all day.

He stepped out of his bedroom into the main portion of the apartment he shared with Inuyasha. His roommate was lounging on the couch, listlessly flipping through the channels. "Where ya going?" he asked as Miroku pulled his jacket off the hook.

"Walk. Need to clear my head."

"'Kay. Be back by dinner—it's your turn to cook tonight."

Miroku groaned and ran a hand through his hair, causing the hair tie to fall out. "Order pizza."

"Hey, that's what we're having tomorrow night!"

"You slacked off last week, Inuyasha; it's my turn."

"Fine," he grumbled, letting his head fall back onto the cushions. "Pick up Chinese on the way home or something."

"Agreed."

-

-

-

Sango breathed in the cool air, reveling in the feeling. She loved autumn the most out of any other season—it was more of her season. It was easier to be invisible in the autumn, she thought. In the summer, everyone was reveling in the warm weather, and liable to hug everyone that crossed their path. In the autumn, when the weather got nippy, people tended to walk with their heads down, their coat collars turned up; and the mood seemed to change with the temperature.

Sango did a little jig as she walked down the street, her jacket open and her hair down, flowing across her shoulders. Beautiful. She'd finished her assignments before dinner—for once!—and she's practiced for over two hours (broken up of course).

The day would have been perfect…

…had a certain person not been on her mind the entire day.

-

-

-

_It's gotten cold again_, Miroku thought absently. Then he shook his head: cold weather made him think of Christmas, and fires, and cuddling with loved ones.

It wasn't that he ever had a lack of dates—he had an overabundance of women to choose from—but none of them promised anything more than a few hours of making out. Nothing…substantial. He doubted that any of those girls would be willing to spoon-feed him soup if he was in the hospital.

He'd mentioned this to Inuyasha, who had stared at him as if he was crazy. "You have the oddest standards for women," he said. "All you want them to do is be willing to spoon-feed you _soup_?"

It was the premise behind the example, Miroku explained. He wanted a woman that was willing to love him even when he was incapable of helping himself and at his worst.

Inuyasha hadn't lost the "you're a complete moron look." "And you date women that _wouldn't _do this?"

"Sorry to break it to you, but not every woman is the saint Kagome is. Does she have any sisters?"

"A brother. He's pretty nice, if you feel like turning gay."

"…I will discreetly disregard that comment."

"Good; I'd be worried if you'd taken me seriously."

"But, really, Inuyasha, it shouldn't be this hard to find a _good_ woman. What's my problem?"

"All the girls you go out with are those that respond positively to your flirting and groping, which indicates that they are air-headed bimbos. You find a woman that slaps you topside for doing such a thing, and you've landed yourself a June Cleaver."

"I doubt June Cleaver ever—"

"It's the premise behind the example, Miroku."

_Smart aleck_, he now thought. For once, Inuyasha had been making sense.

Miroku sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets, murmuring an apology to the woman he bumped into. She muttered something that resembled a "don't worry about it" back to him, before going on her way.

His thoughts moved to tomorrow's rehearsal—the only rehearsal the orchestra would receive before recording the music—and he wondered if that hot woman who'd played the cello had made it in.

Sighing, he figured his dreams were pie-in-the-sky…the pretty, feisty ones were never serious about their instruments: in general, that was. They were in orchestra to check out hot guys.

All the more the pity: they usually dropped out in high school.

"And college is supposed to be the good life…?"

-

-

-

Yet again, Sango found herself jolting awake to the sound of her phone ringing. She grabbed it and brought it to her ear. "I'm not late; I have two hours before rehearsal begins."

"Um…that's great, Sango…"

"Eh? Inuyasha?" She rubbed her eyes, clearing the sleep away. "What are you calling me for?"

"Kagome's phone is turned off and I'm afraid she'll oversleep."

"Kagome? Oversleep? Those two words don't go together."

"Yeah, but…we kinda got back from our date around four-thirty in the morning…"

She groaned. "Inuyasha—you _did _realize that she has rehearsal today? And that usually requires being coherent, if not being able to blow air into her oboe?"

"Yeah, but, it kind of slipped our minds at the time…"

Sango rubbed her temples wearily. "I'll call her; but you _better_ have her home by at least midnight on your next date, you hear me?"

"You're too protective for your own good," he mumbled into the phone. "I feel sorry for your kids."

"I feel even sorrier for yours." Sango slammed the phone down in the receiver and rolled out of bed to get dressed; she still had to leave time to go wake Kagome up, force some breakfast down her throat, and then walk to the studio.

Why did she get the feeling it was going to be one of those days again…?

-

-

-

Miroku grinned at Inuyasha in the mirror as he finished shaving. "Who was that, Inuyasha?"

"Kagome's extremely overprotective best friend."

"Gave you a hard time for keeping Kagome out late, huh?"

"Something like that…"

"So who is this girl, hmm?"

"Sango Taijiya. She plays cello too…you'll probably meet her today at rehearsal. She made assistant principal."

"Oh." Damn, he'd been hoping that magenta-eyed girl would be sitting next to him…

"And as a note of warning," Inuyasha said, "I wouldn't try your usual 'hit-and-run' routine on her—she's not one to be played with."

"Inuyasha, please." Miroku dried off his face with a towel and pointed his razor towards his sullen roommate. "I am a master at the female race; I know what I'm doing."

"I'm just trying to save your ass, you know. She'll beat you up if you try anything on her."

"My cello can serve as a shield." He grinned and moved towards the "clean clothes" laundry basket. As two bachelors living together, they'd nixed the idea of wasting money on dressers: two laundry baskets per person—one for clean clothes, the other for dirty clothes—worked fine for them. "Inuyasha, have you seen my comfy jeans…?"

"You threw them in the wash."

"Did not—I only wore them yesterday."

"They had a pizza stain so you threw it into the Dirty basket."

"I did…not…" Miroku sighed in defeat as Inuyasha held up his "comfy" jeans from the Dirty basket. "Do I have time for a quick trip to the Laundromat?"

-

-

-

"Kagome Higurashi, drag yourself out of that bed this instant!"

Kagome jolted out of her dream and fell off her bed, hitting the floor with a painful _crash_. "Ouch…" she mumbled, rubbing her head. "Sango? Is that you…?"

"Yes."

Kagome could barely make out a shadow moving towards her window, reaching for the string to open the blinds. "No! Don't—" She was temporarily blinded by the sudden light that filled the room. "Ow," she added weakly.

"Up and at 'em, sunshine!" said Sango cheerfully. "We have a full day of rehearsal ahead of us, so let's get going!"

Kagome moaned and pulled a pillow off her bed, letting it fall over her eyes. "I just wanna sleep…"

"Life sucks, huh?" Sango said sympathetically. She dropped down beside Kagome and made herself comfortable on the bean bag chair Kagome had placed beside her bed.

"Right now it does." Kagome heaved a sigh. "Guess I better get up now, hm?"

"That might be a good idea. You wanna walk over together?"

"Erm…actually…I'm meeting Inuyasha for breakfast…sorry, Sango," she finished in a small voice.

"Don't worry about it—you deserve some time with your boyfriend. I wanted to get to the studio early to practice anyway." She pushed aside the twinge of jealousy that sparked for a minute. There were times that she envied Kagome for having a boyfriend that obviously loved her so much—even if he did treat her like crap sometimes—but then she would always remind herself that she didn't need men to be happy in life.

"You sure?"

"Positive." She hauled herself out of the beanbag. "I need to make sure I can play everything perfectly."

"So Miroku Hamaguchi knows just how capable you are on the cello?"

Hit the nail right on the head. "No, that's not it!" Sango said, her blush betraying her.

"Why are you blushing, Sango?" asked Kagome innocently. "It's not like you want to impress him or anything, right?"

"Right." Sango nodded with conviction. "And now I am going to gulp down some coffee so I can still make it to the studio early."

"Lucky," Kagome grumbled. "You can skip breakfast; I can't. If I don't eat, I can't use my diaphragm properly, as my professor screams at me every time I come to a lesson without eating."

Sango playfully stuck out her tongue. "See ya later, Kagome."

"Be nice to Miroku."

Sango rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I mean it—if you start lecturing him on feminism, I'll have to punish you."

"Yes, mommy."

-

-

-

Seeing as she'd used up her monthly funds on buying a new metronome (her old one had fallen off her music stand so many times that it was permanently maimed and only elicited a high-pitched buzzing sound when turned on), Sango resigned herself to walking to the studio. _Maybe I should go trick-or-treating_ _with Kirara on my back_, she thought, pointedly ignoring the stares she received. _I swear, it's almost as if people have never seen a cello before. And this is an allegedly civilized nation?_

She reached the recording studio in record time, and unlocked the door with the key underneath the door mat, recalling Kagome's horror story. The studio was silent and her footsteps echoed on the tile floor. Perfect. She still had forty-five minutes before recording began—that gave her at least fifteen minutes to warm up.

Sango walked towards the room which had been designated as the studio and gave the handle a tug; she caught the bottom of the door with her foot, and shoved it open all the way, maneuvering through the door with a giant instrument on her back. The room was dark, but she could hear a soft, haunting melody being played. She frowned, and groped for the light switch on the wall, wondering who was weird enough to practice in pitch-black darkness, where their sheet music obviously couldn't be seen.

"Wait!" a voice cried.

She froze in her position. "Yes? Who's there?"

"Don't turn the light on, please. Leave it dark for a few more minutes."

"Why? Don't you want to practice?"

"I _am_ practicing."

"In the dark?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How can you see your music? Or your cello?"

"I can't. But I can feel them."

"Huh?" _Odd man.__ He must be one of those hippie types that play music from their _heart._ I wonder how he got into this orchestra—maybe he auditioned while he was high: I've heard that highs make people play more emotionally._

"Come here, I'll explain it to you."

"Eh…that's okay….really…"

"Afraid?" he teased. "Don't worry; I won't bite."

"I can't take a person's word in the dark."

"Why not? It's the same concept as in the light."

"Don't mock me. I can't tell if you're serious or not when I can't see your face, eyes, or expression."

"Mmm," the man said thoughtfully. "I see; you have a talent for seeing inside of people. Useful skill."

"Quite," Sango replied dryly.

"I promise on my eighteenth-century Pedronelli to be on my best behavior."

Sango's eyes widened. "_Eighteenth-century_?"

"Yep. C'mere, I'll let you play it."

"You're crazy."

"So I've been told."

Sango tentatively moved forward. "I'll probably bump into something."

"Then wait till your eyes adjust to the dark. It's not that hard to maneuver around a couple of chairs and stands."

She crashed into a stand and it tumbled to the ground, the metal hitting the tile with an ear-shattering _crash_. "Remind me to kill you for that."

"I'll make sure and burn your to-do list."

Her eyes were beginning to adjust now. She could make out the shadowy outline of a person sitting behind a cello, his bow swinging back and forth between his fingers. "I see you now."

"Beautiful. Take a seat."

She dropped her things on the floor and carefully laid her cello next to the chair she lowered herself into.

"Now," he said, "I can explain to you why I practice in the dark."

-

-

-

"Damn!" Inuyasha swerved his motorcycle to avoid a pedestrian that was determined to cross the road in the next five seconds. "She couldn't wait until 'walk' appeared?"

"Inuyasha, would you have waited until 'walk' appeared?" Kagome asked, tightening her arms around his waist.

"That is beside the point."

Once the horns and shouts of New Yorkers that were angry at Inuyasha for running a red light had been left behind, Kagome said, "Inuyasha? Wouldn't it have been quicker to walk?"

"No."

"Yes, it would've."

"So what? You're safer here."

"Safer on a motorcycle in New York City traffic?"

"I can protect you when you're with me on my bike," he barked, turning his head slightly so he could look at her. "I can't say as much for when we're walking an any weirdo can suddenly snatch you away."

Kagome's heart melted at his words. He cared for her; he really did. But because of his nature, he found it necessary not to show the sweet, sentimental side of him. She found it a little ironic that because of his desire to protect her, he inadvertently put her in even more danger…but it was the thought that counted, right?

She smiled and tucked her head into the curve where his neck met his shoulder. "I love you, Inuyasha."

He started a bit, but his grey eyes softened. "Kagome—"

The squealing of car tires and the cursing of an irate driver cut off his words. His soft smile transformed into a scowl and he made a rude gesture to the driver that had yelled at him.

Kagome sighed. _Oh, well…maybe someday he'll actually get the words out…_

-

-

-

Sango listened curiously as the man began to explain his theory to her. "Light is a distraction," he began, his voice taking on a story-teller's lilt. "If you can see, there are a million possible things that might catch your eye, trigger a train of thought, and therefore let your mind wander away from the music. If one can somehow shut down senses other than hearing and feeling, the music will improve. If I cannot see distractions, but instead only hear my music and feel the strings beneath my fingers, my whole world becomes the music that I am playing. Until I am finished—or distracted. Does that make sense?"

"Uh huh," said Sango absently. He had one of those melodious voices that a person could find on an audio recording of a book, or a national geographic special—a voice that induced mesmerism. "Yes, it does," she added, coming to her senses.

"Good," he said, a smile in his voice.

"I interrupted you when I came in, didn't I?" Sango said, realizing the fact as she said it.

"Yes. But don't worry about it. It was bound to happen eventually. What time is it?"

"Dunno…" She looked uselessly down at her wrist. "Lost my watch a while ago."

He chuckled. "I'm too poor to buy one."

"And yet you have a Pedronelli from the 1700s."

"This, my dear, has been handed down through my family for generations." He stroked it lovingly.

"Really? So you come from a long line of cellists?"

"Well…not exactly… it's been handed down because of sentimental value. The last person to actually _play_ it was my great-great-great-great…great-grandfather, I think. Five or six greats, I believe. Or was it seven?" He considered for a moment, and then shrugged. "Don't remember. Although I do remember that he was some wandering minstrel who performed in monasteries all over Japan."

"He was actually a wandering minstrel?"

"Yes."

"That's…bizarre."

"_Life_ is bizarre."

"Yeah." Even in the darkness, she could tell that he was smiling. From what she could make out, he had short hair pulled into a small ponytail, and a few wisps of bangs across his forehead.

"Would you like to play it?" he asked suddenly.

"Eh?" She snapped out of her reverie. "Play what?"

"My cello, of course." He held out his bow. "You know you want to," he said enticingly.

Sango carefully cradled the bow in her palm. "I wouldn't know what to play."

"Anything. Play a song from your heart."

"I've never understood when people say that. How can you play from your…heart? When I try to make a nice song—when I'm just fiddling around—it by no means sounds pretty or profound."

"The heart isn't always pretty or profound," he said. "Sometimes the heart can be very ugly or sometimes even boring. Right?"

"Well…yeah…I guess that's true…" She sat still for a moment. "Let me see that cello of yours."

"Kazaana."

"…Pardon?"

"His name is Kazaana."

"Oh…okay, then…" A small chuckle escaped her. "You named your cello?"

"Naturally. Are you telling me you haven't?"

"Well, actually, I am guilty as well. Gives you more of a connection with your instrument, you know?"

"Yes, I do." He smiled. "You are worthy of holding my kazaana."

"That's good to know." She smiled back.

He gently handed her his cello. She tucked it between her legs and held the bow poised over the strings. She sat like that for a moment, wondering what she should play. The conversation about playing by heart hadn't helped her; she didn't want to come across as an amateur who didn't know her way around the cello.

"Go on," he urged. "Play something. Anything."

_Screw it_. She threw away all worries and boldly slashed the bow across the strings, her fingers moving in random patterns. She winced as she heard the most grating, spontaneous sequence of notes fill the room. _Does this mean my heart is a traffic jam of emotions?_ she thought wryly.

"Lovely," the man proclaimed. "Disgustingly lovely."

"You got the first part right," muttered Sango, her cheeks flushed. "Can I just play something from Brahms?"

"No, no, that's not being original," he said. "Play that sequence again."

"I can't remember it."

"You can too. Make a random rhythm."

"I don't remember the notes."

"Lazy. It was middle C, G-sharp below that, A-flat an octave above, B-natural below middle C, and F-sharp below that and a run. Now, make it into a rhythm."

Sango stared at the shadowy shape. "You remembered all that? By ear?"

"It's a gift, I guess," he mumbled. "Play it again; this time with a different rhythm."

She threw in a dotted quarter note and a following eighth note and a little swing pattern at the end. Put like that, it didn't sound so terrible.

"See? What'd I tell you?" he said smugly.

"Cocky. I'm surprised you're not a trumpet player."

"My roommate is. Must have rubbed off."

"That would explain it."

Silence befell them.

"It's a beautiful instrument," said Sango, breaking the silence. "You're blessed to have it."

"Yeah." He paused for a minute before saying, "Are you a college student?"

"Yes," Sango said without hesitation. Normally she wouldn't be so quick to reveal such a thing to a stranger, but this man was obviously a talented musician, and seemed fairly educated. And besides that, she felt some kind of…connection with him. Call it crazy, but…

"Really. You go to NYU, don't you."

"Yeah—how'd you know?" He couldn't be at NYU; surely he would be Principal Cellist in the orchestra.

"I thought as much," he sighed. "I'm at Columbia. I figured that I would have met you by now if we were at the same school."

"Undoubtedly. Are you Principal Cellist in the orchestra?"

"No."

"Oh. Assistant Principal?"

"I'm not in the orchestra."

She gave him a look. "Why not?"

"Too restricting. What if I don't want to play Elgar's Variations the way he wrote them? What if I feel like playing different chord progressions in Beethovan's Fourth?"

"And yet here you are, prepared to play whatever the movie score tells you to."

"Even radicals must make a living. We can't live off original thoughts."

"Strange, I thought all you hippies needed was music and literature to sustain you."

"A silver-tongued maiden," he said dryly. "I only wish it were so—although surely I would be obscenely obese if such a feat were possible. And what makes you think I'm a hippie?"

She shrugged. "I dunno: your manner of speaking, your ideas… you're probably part of the Arbor Day Association. And I'll bet your car has a bumper sticker that says 'Make Love, Not War.'"

"Sorry to disappoint," he said, "but I'm a regular Ivy League prep that happens to be misplaced."

"Very funny."

"No, seriously—I'm even a model for Abercrombie & Fitch."

"…Please tell me you're joking." A modeling hippie? Unheard of. The man was insane. Surely he found it difficult to consort with bubble-headed bimbos day in and day out.

He shrugged. "I'm a walking oxymoron."

"Who _are_ you?" she asked.

At that precise moment, the sound of an opening door and someone fumbling for the light switch reached her ears. _No_. It seemed sacrilegious to discover this man's name in the light. "Wait!" she cried, only to find that her voice merged with _his_.

The room suddenly flooded with light. Sango winced and automatically squeezed her eyes shut, pushing away the intrusive light.

"It's…_you_," he said softly.

Sango opened her eyes and drank in the picture of the man sitting in front of her. _The cell phone man! The one standing outside the studio!_ She felt an odd happiness settle within her as she stared into his gorgeous purple eyes.

"Oh—sorry," the man at the door said, awkwardly trying to pull his tuba case through the doorway. "I didn't interrupt anything, did I?"

Sango turned back to the man, noting that he wore a navy blue collared shirt and casual khaki cargo pants. _He really does look like a model…_ A walking contradiction. Aptly said.

He winked at her and playfully took her hand in his, kissing it. "What is thy name, fair lady?"

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "Sango."

"Sango," he repeated, his lips turning up in a smile. "It fits."

Oh curse it, she was blushing!

"What's your name?" she said, ducking her head so that her hair fell over her cheeks.

"M—"

"_Miroku_!" a voice called from the doorway.

Sango looked up in surprise. What was Kagome doing here so early?

Kagome stopped in mid-stride, her eyes widening at the position they were in. "Miroku Hamaguchi," she said, her voice going up a notch, "please, _please_ don't tell me that you were trying to hit on my best friend!"

"Your best friend?" Miroku looked up at Sango, realization dawning. "You mean—_this_ is Sango Taijiya?"

"Miroku Hamaguchi?" Sango repeated, horrified. "_You're_ Miroku Hamaguchi?"

Kagome shut her mouth and stared at the two in silence.

Sango slowly withdrew her hand from Miroku's. She didn't know what to think. She didn't know what she _wanted_ to think. Without even meeting this man, she'd already resented him…and now she was attracted to him?

He looked just as confused as she, his purple eyes darkening a shade as he got to his feet. He looked adorable even when he frowned.

She pursed her lips and stared down at her feet. She felt as if her whole world had just shattered…

Just when she thought she'd _possibly_ found a guy that could pull her out of her man-hating funk…

Just who was Miroku Hamaguchi, exactly?

The man whose skills had landed him Principal cellist, consequently demoting her? The Abercrombie & Fitch model who most likely had beautiful women fawning over him day and night? The free spirited young man who refused to join and orchestra because it forced him to color within the lines? Or was he the deep, intellectual musician that apparently only emerged in the darkness?

"Who _are_ you?" Miroku said softly, his gaze catching Sango's. "Inuyasha said you were a man-hating warrior woman who was most likely a piranha in your past life. I didn't sense any of that a few minutes ago."

She glared at Kagome. "Remind me to murder your boyfriend."

"Erm…"

"Something doesn't add up," Miroku said, still staring at her.

Sango looked down, and noticed that she was still holding his cello and bow. "Uh…here…" she said, gently passing them to him.

He laid a hand on top of hers, stilling their movement. "Tell you what," he said, not breaking eye contact. "Why don't you play the kazaana today?"

Her jaw literally dropped. "Say what?"

"Play it today. I want to see what will happen."

"What, you think your talent will rub off onto me? I'll become as good as you by osmosis?"

"Humor me." He tapped her nose playfully and got to his feet. "I am in desperate need of coffee, and the café workers across the street are probably wondering where I am." He dipped his head towards Kagome and then walked out of the room.

Sango stared at his retreating back. "The hell…?"

Kagome sighed. "Yeah, that pretty much sums Miroku up…"

Sango bit her lip and again looked down at the instrument in her hands, suddenly feeling an odd urge to cry.

-

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_Author's Notes:_ For some random reason I looked at the first chapter of _Cacophony_ today and realized that I hadn't updated since the 27th of September. o.O I honestly did not realize it had been that long since I'd updated. But then, I guess when I have three ongoing stories, that's expected… Gomen ne for the long wait; I hope this chapter compensates. ) Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I love you all! sniff, sniff


	3. Movement III: Moderato

A/N: god, my computer desk is so messy. I should really clean this thing off. I have notes scribbled for countless fics on scrap paper (along with doodles) and my chapter planning crammed in the margins. (--sigh--) Enjoy this chapter, I love you all for putting up with my slow updates and still reading this fic!

This chapter is dedicated to "Maypole" my muse—and her incarnate, of course (May).

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**-**

**-**

**Cacophony**

**-x-**

**Movement III: _Moderato_**

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Sango looked up from her book at the sound of a baton tapping against a music stand. "Musicians! To your seats, please; our goal today is to play through the entire score and record at least the first quarter of the movie."

The friendly chatter slowly died as the college students made their way to their respective seats. Out of the corner of her eye, Sango saw Miroku detach himself from a woman's embrace. _Playboy_, she thought acidly. He'd done nothing but flirt with women for the past half hour. _What happened to the profound, gentle man I met in the darkness?_ She looked away when she saw him try and grope the woman's rear. _Guess his alter ego doesn't show very often. Pervert._ She tucked her book into her bag and pulled Miroku's cello off the floor, settling the instrument between her knees.

_So beautiful_, she inwardly marveled, running her hands over the polished wood.

"Excuse me, Sango," Miroku said pleasantly, squeezing through the tiny opening between their chairs. He set his nearly empty coffee cup on the floor beside his chair and picked up her cello. "Ready for a fun day of recording?"

She bit her lip. "Listen," she said. "I really don't think I should play your instrument today. Not during the actual recording. You should be playing it."

"Oh no," he said, his purple eyes laughing at her. "We're rehearsing first. Play it for rehearsal—if you're that desperate to get rid of it, I'll take it back for the actual recording session."

"I didn't mean it that way—" she protested.

He merely smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before turning around to talk to one of the basses.

Sango flushed and looked away, hoping no one saw the embarrassing display. Two rows back, Kagome caught her eye. She tilted her head, obviously asking what the matter was. Sango shook her head slightly. She'd have to talk with her during their break.

She checked her watch. Eight o'clock. She had two to three hours of sitting next to Miroku before a quick coffee break. She groaned and rubbed her neck. It was going to be a long day.

"Need a massage?"

Sango froze. "Pardon?"

"You were rubbing your neck with a pained look on your face. I do great massages—I promise your neck will feel ten times better."

Why did he have to look so cute and earnest at the same time? "Maybe later," she said, looking down at his cello, yet again wondering why he'd offered to let her play it. She plucked a few notes, avoiding eye contact with him.

"You all brought the scores that were mailed to your addresses, right?" the conductor said, his face impassive.

A muffled chorus of "yes" sounded. The man's expression didn't change. "My name is Sesshomaru Takahashi, for all of you that have not yet figured it out, and I will be the conductor for the recording of _In the Shadows_. Please get set; you have five minutes to make sure all your music is in order before we begin."

"You don't have to be so emotional about it," Sango muttered dryly.

Beside her, Miroku snorted. "He's about as empathetic as a statue, I'll give you that," he said to her. "But he's an amazing conductor. Aside from that, he can play any stringed instrument that exists on the planet, as well as a handful of wind instruments."

"Oh." She felt her cheeks heat at his nearness.

Miroku turned away from her and waved his hand in the air. "Mr. Takahashi? Sir?"

"What is it, Hamaguchi?" The man trained his golden gaze on the boyish cellist.

"My score is rather blurry, sir; I was reading through the parts and I could only make out about half the notes."

Takahashi walked towards Miroku's seat and took the score off his stand. He flipped through the pages, examining the notes carefully. Finally, he snapped the book shut and tucked it under his arm. "You—woman, what is your name?"

"Sango Taijiya." She didn't like the looks of this…

"Miss Taijiya will be your stand partner, Hamaguchi." Takahashi nodded and returned to his podium.

Miroku smiled and scooted his chair closer to Sango's. "This day just gets better and better, doesn't it?"

Her fingers tightened so painfully around the cello's neck that her knuckles turned white.

"Shall we read through the first movement? If it's good, you won't have to rehearse it again until we record," said the conductor, pushing his white-blond hair off his shoulders.

"That's what I'm talking about," Miroku said softly.

Sango stared straight ahead.

Takahashi raised his arms and gave the musicians the first beat. The brass started off with a loud fanfare, and were soon joined by the woodwinds. Sango got her fingers in position and carefully counted her measures, a little disconcerted at the tempo Takahashi was taking. It was much brighter than she'd practiced it. She bit her lip and watched for the conductor's cue, letting her fingers fly the moment the baton reached the ictus point.

_Okay…this isn't too bad, I'm getting this_, she thought with relief after finishing the passage. She counted two more measures of rest, and started the second passage of runs. _What is this, an anti-cello piece? Since when are violoncellos given insanely fast runs at the beginning of a piece?_

She finished the last of the runs with a sigh and leaned back in her chair, letting herself relax for the next fourteen measures of rest. The girl on her right-hand side was fretfully fingering through the rest of the piece, a look of concentration on her face. Sango smiled, satisfied that she hadn't misplayed a single part so far.

On the other side of her, Miroku was slouched forward, one arm dangling carelessly by his side, the other holding her cello in place while his chin rested on the shiny wood. She noted how large his hands were compared to hers; they looked foreign on her precious Kirara.

She looked down at the Kazaana in her hands. It was a gorgeous instrument; much finer than hers, she had to admit. Its tone was beautiful—what she wouldn't give to own an instrument like this. Unfortunately, such an extraordinary occurrence would only come to pass if she saved up every penny for the next five years or so.

Tracing circles on the polished wood with her nail, she toyed with several thoughts in her mind. She didn't know what to make of his lending it to her… was he wanting something in return? Was it only to brag? _Ha ha, my instrument's nicer than yours?_ She hoped that wasn't it. Maybe he was just being really, really nice and letting her play it because—somehow—he knew it was her dream to become the concertmaster of a prestigious orchestra.

_Right—so he's a mind reader, is he? Not even Kagome knows about that dream._ She hadn't declared a major yet, but she was leaning towards an English or English literature degree.

Lost in her thoughts, Sango didn't even catch the cue the conductor sent her way. She jumped when she heard Miroku begin to play, and frantically searched for the measure that matched the rhythm he was playing. Spotting it a minute later, she hurriedly jumped in, hoping no one had noticed the absence of her part.

The girl on the right swiftly jabbed her in the side. "It's a solo," she hissed. "Stop playing!"

Too late, Sango noticed the word "solo" at the beginning of the phrase. She felt her cheeks begin to burn as she lowered her bow in embarrassment. _Brilliant, Sango, absolutely brilliant. _She ducked her head downward, letting her hair fall in front of her face. The rest of the cellos didn't come in for a while, so she occupied herself with listening to Miroku.

Gradually, her blush began to fade and her attention became riveted solely on Miroku…and his playing. She was gawking, but she really didn't care. He was completely relaxed, a content expression on his face as his fingers gracefully glided from position to position, never hesitating or faltering. At one point in the solo, his eyes glazed over and a slight smile appeared on his face as he made a heart-wrenching melody with his hands, the vibrato and low notes nearly breaking Sango's heart with their beauty. She glanced at the conductor and was surprised to find that his eyes were focused solely on Miroku. He was following Miroku's lead; Hamaguchi had the go-ahead to take all the artistic liberties he wanted.

Her jaw began to slacken as he played on; the melody was no longer the composer's—it had become _his_. Her hands tightened around Kazaana. He sounded better on her instrument than she did on his—and lord knew whose instrument was better.

_And you thought you were so _good, the little voice inside her head taunted. _You felt so high-and-mighty, the Principal chair of the top orchestra in your college. Your talent is nothing compared to his. Listen to him! He must be some kind of prodigy…_

Suddenly Takahashi's gaze turned on her, his gold eyes looking at her expectantly. She jolted out of her thoughts and sat up straight, searching the music with a pit in her stomach. _Dammit, when did it become a soli?!_ She quickly jumped in, countering Miroku's medley with a more minor chord progression. The music was beautifully written, but she somehow felt as if she was tainting it with her presence. _My ability is nowhere near Miroku's…I mean, Hamaguchi's._

The movement passed in the blink of an eye to Sango. Her playing felt mechanic, as if she was on auto-pilot. The conductor cut the orchestra off, the last note lingering delicately in the air. The entire room was silent, instruments poised, not a soul moving until the conductor moved. He nodded curtly. "Good enough. Take a fifteen minute break and be back in your seats ready to play at exactly quarter to nine."

There was a collective sigh of relief and the room soon filled with talk and laughter mixed in with random notes or scale patterns.

Miroku turned to Sango with a smile. "I'm more pleased than I expected to be."

"With what? Your performance?" She laid her bow down in her lap and folded her hands, hoping to quell their shaking. Her pride had taken a blow today; she'd been put in her place. _Arrogant fool._

"No, with yours."

She gave him a look. "Well, thanks, that's encouraging." _You expected me to be completely helpless?_

"I wasn't being sarcastic; you're extremely gifted. These next couple weeks should be interesting."

She stared at him. "Say what?" Had she heard him wrong?

"Modest, aren't you? Your tone is lovely, and your technique is admirable. You have a few problems with confidence—you need to play more assertively—and your vibrato was a little much at times, but those are minor issues. It'll be nice to actually have a colleague accompanying me instead of a self-absorbed amateur."

Her cheeks grew hot. If only he knew… She stood. "I'm going to use the bathroom."

"I'll anxiously await your return," he said, winking.

"Well _that_ puts my mind at ease…" she muttered as she pushed her way through the groups of people chatting amiably, hoping she remembered where the bathrooms were.

-

-

-

Kagome watched Sango leave the room, her cheeks flaming. One glance at Miroku told her all she needed to know. The man was watching her best friend depart from the room with an interested look on his face.

She smiled slowly. Sango had been without a love life for too long. It was time to call The Matchmaker. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and speed-dialed a number, drumming her fingers on her music stand. The Matchmaker's voicemail picked up; Kagome left a message and then dialed Inuyasha's number. "Hey, Inuyasha, it's me…whatcha up to?"

"Watching daytime TV. God, no wonder the general population is so stupid. Just watching this is killing my brain cells."

"I thought you had lab class today," she said, her tone mildly accusatory.

"Cancelled—the class before us blew it up the lab room up. Whole hall was filled with black smoke—freakin' awesome, man."

"Inu_yasha_."

"What?"

She sighed. "Never mind."

-

-

-

"Rehearsal number five, if you will," Takahashi said after cutting the orchestra off. "Less first violin; seconds, play out. Three measures after rehearsal number five, cellos have the floor. Everyone else shut up so the cellos and bassoons can be heard—this is the angst-filled love scene, if my memory serves me correctly."

Sango wondered how the man could go through that entire speech without altering his facial expression once. _Maybe his muscles are paralyzed? Sort of like that woman who offered a thousand dollars to anyone who could make her laugh, but ended up filthy rich because her face muscles were paralyzed and everyone would lose the bet…_

"Miss Taijiya?"

"Hn? Um, yes sir?"

"I know we all are entranced by Hamaguchi's musical ability, but next time, do you think you could come in at the specified time?"

She could feel her face burning again. _This is just not my day…_ "Yes, sir."

"Thank you." He turned away from her. "Winds! In the section that passes off from clarinets to flutes to oboes—"

"Don't worry," Miroku whispered to her. "He does that to all good musicians, just to make sure their egos don't inflate. I can't tell you how many times he's knocked me for stupid stuff."

"It was my bad, though," she said.

He shrugged. "We all have brain flatulations once in a while. Completely understandable."

She smiled stiffly and ran through a few sections as Takahashi rambled on. _I'd better play everything perfectly from this point forward,_ she thought determinedly, _to make up for that appalling display from before…_

She jolted out of her thoughts as a large pair of hands suddenly began to massage her shoulder muscles. "Wh-what the—?!"

"Relax," Hamaguchi said softly, his breath tickling her neck. "You're so tense, you'd think you were playing in the New York Philharmonic in front of a jam-packed audience. Just have fun; I'm not going to break your bow in half if you mess up."

"_You_ won't mess up," she said stubbornly.

"Sure I will—you just won't notice. However, if you mess up, the whole orchestra will know. The trick is to make it seem like nothing happened, that you haven't done anything wrong. With that kind of attitude, you can fool the world."

"Where do you get that kind of confidence?" she murmured, subconsciously relaxing under the massage.

"I guess it comes naturally to me. I'm not really the shy type, so performing has never been a problem."

"Lucky."

"You're one of those people that gets stage fright just playing a solo in class, aren't you?" he said, his hands moving up to rub the muscles in her neck.

"Unfortunately."

"Hmm, we'll have to fix that, won't we?" He fell into thought and didn't speak for a few minutes. "I'll figure something out."

"Thanks," she said, unwilling to speak more than monosyllabic answers. She really was stiff, and his hands felt so good—

The conductor finished talking and tapped his baton on his stand. Hamaguchi's hands dropped from her neck and returned to his—her—instrument. He smiled at her and turned his focus to Takahashi, his face morphing into a serious mask.

Sango took a while longer to get ready, having to shake herself out of her blissful daze. Her shoulders felt so loose now. _He's in the wrong profession; he could make a fortune as a personal masseuse._

Takahashi raised his arms and they were off.

-

-

-

Two hours later, they'd finished rehearsal and were ready to begin recording. Miroku cracked his back and stretched his arms a bit. Beside him, Sango was slumped so far down in her chair that her head probably wasn't visible to anyone behind her. Her eyes were unfocused and he could tell she was letting herself drift for a minute before having to play again.

She really was talented, and not at all conceited. A little introverted, maybe, but that could be fixed. Inuyasha said she was a lunatic feminist, but so far Miroku hadn't sensed any of that. He hoped she would make pleasant company—he always enjoyed a good conversation over coffee. And he was tired of listening to airheads prattle on about trivial things while surreptitiously checking out his muscles or face.

He decided to let her zone. He turned around to talk to some of the second chair cellos, who were surprisingly beautiful and well-endowed. In five minutes he'd discovered that three of them went to Columbia and the other to NYU and lived in walking distance from his apartment.

"All right, people, get ready—I want to record the first thirty minutes at least."

Miroku sighed and cracked his fingers, picking up Sango's cello from the floor. He tuned a few of the strings and sat up straight in his chair, ready to play.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sango glance over at him—then again—and again. He bit back a smile. So she liked him, did she? Very nice; he would enjoy getting to know h—

She quickly leaned over and flipped a few pages on the stand so that they were now in the right place.

He mentally smacked himself. _Yeah, that's what you get for being self-centered and egotistical_. "Thanks, sweetie," he whispered.

She shot him an annoyed look. "My name is _not_ 'sweetie.'"

"Yes, ma'am." She was cute when she got mad.

"What's that look for?"

"What look?" he said innocently.

"Hamaguchi, Taijiya?" The conductor raised a single brow. "Are we ready?"

Sango flushed red and sat up poker straight in her chair. Miroku smiled lazily and nodded. "All ready, sir."

"Thank you," the man said formally. He nodded to the snare drummer, who opened the piece with an almost silent drumbeat.

Sango refused to look at Miroku as the cellos joined the orchestra a few measures later. _It wasn't my fault that time! Stupid flirt._

She flushed red again when he had the audacity to wink at her in the middle of a piece. As a result, she played the next passage a little too forcefully, but at the present, she really didn't care.

-

-

-

"Sango, you've been frowning ever since lunch started. What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"That's believable," Kagome scoffed, licking the ice cream off her fingers.

"Very healthy, Kagome," said Sango.

"Shut up. Now spill. It wouldn't have anything to do with Miroku, would it?"

"Would what have anything to do with Miroku?"

"That frown, of course."

Sango shrugged and closed her eyes, basking in the sunlight. The two girls were sitting outside the studio on the concrete stoop, watching the world go by. Most of the musicians had taken off to various coffee shops or delis, but since they'd both brought small lunches, they decided to stay and people-watch.

"People-watching isn't very effective if your eyes are closed," Kagome commented.

"I'm resting."

"You and Miroku sure had some chemistry going. It was like watching one of those electricity conductors with the zig-zag lines of power running between them."

"You've been reading too many romance novels."

"Precisely—I know exactly what signs to look for."

"Kagome…"

"Joke, joke. But seriously—"

"No. I do not want to hear one more word about men. _Especially_ that lech of a man Miroku. And that's final."

"Sango, I'm wounded."

Sango's eyes flew open. Standing before her was none other than Miroku Hamaguchi, grinning shamelessly down at her.

Unable to stop the horrible blush that was creeping into her cheeks, she lashed out. "Do you always eavesdrop on private conversations?"

"Only ones that mention me."

"Egomaniac." She regretted her words the minute she saw the expression on his face alter slightly—obviously she'd touched a nerve.

"Sango!" Kagome blustered.

"It's okay," said Miroku, shrugging a bit, although his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm used to it."

Sango felt terrible. She'd meant the comment as a joke…sort of…but it looked like he'd really taken it hard. Dammit. _Open mouth, insert foot, Sango?_ "I'm sorry—I mean—I was joking, I didn't think you'd take it seriously—"

"It's okay," he said again.

"You sure?"

"Yup."

He wasn't. But what else could she say? She looked helplessly at Kagome, who had a long-suffering look on her face.

Miroku smiled and said, "I'll leave you two ladies to your private conversations then," before opening the door to the studio and walking inside.

Once the door had closed, Sango turned to Kagome. "What just happened?"

Kagome sighed. "Miroku's biggest fear is of being misunderstood. Because he's a model and a fantastic musician, most girls get this preformed notion that he's your typical egotistical playboy prodigy."

"Well…I can't say I've seen any proof to refute that."

"And aren't you the one who's so uptight about seeing _inside_ a person?" chided Kagome, whacking Sango lightly on the arm. "On the outside he may seem like that, but if you get to know him…"

"Right. That's what they all say." So far, Sango didn't see anything special about Miroku. Aside from his purple eyes, that is. Those were a little less common—and completely gorgeous, but that was beside the point. She'd known many egotistical playboys—and yes, even a few prodigies.

"I didn't mean to offend him," she mumbled in spite of herself.

"It's okay. He's not the type to stay mad."

"Let's hope not; I have to sit next to him for another three days."

-

-

-

"Hey," Sango said cautiously, coming up beside Miroku.

"Hey," he greeted her with a easy smile. He was stretched out in his chair, his legs crossed and his arms folded across his chest. He was like a relaxing cat. "What's up?"

"Not much." She stepped over him and flopped down in her chair. "Listen—about before—I just wanted to apologize again—"

He held up a hand. "Forgiven."

"But—"

"I know it was an accident. It's okay—really." He picked up the bow that was resting on their stand and used it to flip a few pages. "Play this part with me?"

He was using the bow to point to a soli passage. "Why?" she asked, slightly suspicious.

"I want to see how it sounds."

"All right." She picked up his cello and sat up straight, bow poised. "Ready. Where do you want to…start…" She whacked him over the head with her bow. "My face is up _here_, lech!"

"Eh heh…"

-

-

-

As the other two oboists were heatedly debating whether trombones or saxophones made better dates (while talking around their reeds; they sounded as if they were talking around cigarettes), Kagome smiled slyly as she watched Miroku and Sango start to play together, both their faces taking on a look of concentration. Miroku and Sango. Even their names sounded perfect together!

They were just _so_ perfect for each other! Granted, she'd never in her wildest dreams have placed her intelligent, level-headed, stubborn best friend with the easy-going playboy model, but they really did make the cutest couple.

She jumped a few inches in the air as her pocket began to vibrate. "Never get used to that," she grumbled, pulling the cell phone from her pocket. Duly noting the name displayed, she answered: "Well hi there."

"Hey," an airy voice said. "You called?"

"I did."

"Are you in need of the matchmaker's skills?"

"I am."

The person on the other side of the line sighed. "I don't come cheap."

"Even for me, who carries out all your dirty work? C'mon, how many favors do you owe me right now?"

"Oh, all right. Who is it this time?"

"My best friend."

"Not…_Sango?_"

"Yup!" Kagome said cheerfully.

"Ohhh, this should be interesting… who's the lucky guy."

"Miroku Hamaguchi."

There was silence on the other line. "You're joking, right? Tell me you're joking."

"You know him?"

"Who doesn't? Oh, this is going to be _so_ much fun! I should write this down and turn it into a trashy romance novel or something."

"Sango would murder you."

"Not if I file a protection claim first."

Kagome sniggered.

"So, when shall we start?"

"Today?"

"I have classes, Kags. And then work. College isn't free, ya know."

"We're here till five p.m.—show up whenever you can."

"I'll make time. See you soon!"

Kagome slipped her phone back in her pocket, once again becoming aware of the argument beside her.

"Saxophones are more wild—if a date goes wrong, they improvise! It's never boring around them!"

"Oh yeah? Well, trombones do it in seven positions!"

Kagome shot out of her chair. _Okay, it's time to leave._

-

-

-

After another exhausting two hours of almost non-stop playing, Takahashi finally dismissed the musicians, reminding them to be back in the studio the following night for another hour and a half of recording, and then the following day for touch-ups and re-dos.

Then he stepped down off the podium and promptly left.

Some musicians had already left, but the majority of them were just fiddling around on their instruments, talking, or laughing.

Sango leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes for a minute or two. She just wanted to go home…not walk some zillion-odd miles back home…

Beside her, she heard Miroku stretch and sigh. "Hey you," he said, tapping her nose, "what are you doing after rehearsal?"

Her eyes flew open and she regarded him warily. "I'm…working. I have a crapload of homework," she lied.

"All work and no play makes Sango a dull girl."

"Likewise, all play and no work makes Miroku a bum. Says Sango as she laughs at him from high up the corporate ladder."

He laughed at that, the lighting making his eyes gleam in appreciation. "Come on, just a quick cup of coffee. I promise fifteen minutes won't detract from your working time. Much."

She opened her mouth to decline…but then she remembered her rude comment—okay, _comments_—earlier. She really did owe him something…but if he got the wrong impression and tried anything, she'd kick his ass.

Period.

"Fine. But only for a little bit…"

"Please, contain yourself; you're going overboard on the excitement."

She gave him a lidded look. "Just for that, I should refuse to go with you at all."

"Ah, but don't you know? I am irresistible…"

She snorted and packed up her cello, handing Kazaana back to Miroku.

"Thanks," he said, putting the instrument away with practiced ease. "Meet you outside on the stoop, okay?" He then turned and walked out of the studio, pausing to hug a few girls along the way.

She stared after him, not knowing what to think. _Looks like you were the one making a big deal out of things, Sango. He probably just wants female company…and no one else was willing to go with him._

She shook away the brief feeling of disappointment and convinced herself that she was happy that there was no other reason than the inability-to-be-without-a-woman-for-more-than-five-minutes for asking her to have coffee.

-

-

-

"Um…bye, Sango?"

Sango jumped guiltily. "Oh—Kagome. Sorry, I was just going to—"

"Leave without saying goodbye to me?" Kagome put her hands on her hips and glared in mock indignation. "Miroku must really be something to make you forget your best friend."

"What makes you think this has anything to do with Miroku?" Sango said in what she hoped was a casual voice.

"I don't. But looks like it was a good guess, because you're blushing."

_Crap_.

"Well, don't let me keep you!" Kagome chirped, wrapping Sango in a one-sided hug. "You go have fun, okay? It's been way too long since you've been on a date."

"It's—not—a—date," hissed Sango.

Kagome waggled her fingers. "Tootles!" She returned to the group of double reed players that were discussing which type of musicians were…better in…bed…

"How does she do it…?" she mumbled to herself, hefting Kirara onto her back and walking towards the exit.

-

-

-

Sango stepped out onto the stoop, immediately bombarded by a gust of cold air. She gasped in surprise, immediately covering her bare arms. What a day to wear a tee-shirt…

"Cold?" She looked up to find Miroku standing beside her, a leather jacket dangling from his outstretched hand.

"No, thank you," she said, shaking her head. She was _not_ about to take his jacket—talk about sending the wrong message.

"It's just a chivalry thing," he said. "Don't be so uptight; you won't be labeled 'Miroku's Woman' because you wore my jacket."

She opened her mouth to respond, but came up with no words. Her cheeks were getting hot again. How was it that he was able to read her mind?

"You don't have very many male friends, do you?" he asked conversationally.

"Of course I do."

"Would you accept their jackets?"

"I'd most likely _steal_ their jackets."

"Sango, I am ashamed of you. You should know better than to go around stealing nice, leather jackets," he said as he tugged Kirara off her back and wrapped the jacket around her shoulders. "Besides, you're shivering."

"Am not," she muttered stubbornly, even as she shrugged her arms into the sleeves. It was too big for her, but it did provide a considerable amount of warmth. She hadn't realized Miroku was that much taller…but now that he was bending down to smile at her…

She swallowed.

"So. We going for coffee, or what?"

-

-

-

She was so cute when she got flustered. He wouldn't mind getting to know this girl better at all…

"Of course," he said, taking her by the arm and leading her towards the crosswalk. "No, we're going to leave the instruments here. Yes, on the stoop. That's what he's for." Miroku jerked his thumb towards a tall, expressionless boy standing in front of the studio. Sango hadn't even noticed him. "Who's that?"

"Security guard. Weird kid; name's Hakadoushi. Does a good job—I promise you Kirara will be safe and sound when we return."

"If she's not…" she warned threateningly.

Miroku smiled. "Besides, Kazaana's there to keep her company."

"…Right…"

The gusts of icy wind sent Sango shivering every few seconds. He pulled her closer, shielding her a bit, and noted with satisfaction that she didn't protest. She was in desperate need of romancing—according to both Inuyasha and Kagome, she was 100 realist and 0 romantic.

"Beautiful weather," he breathed, studying her face carefully. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was windblown, giving her a pixie-like look.

"If you take pleasure in contracting hypothermia," she said, although the look on her face belied her words. She was enjoying this as much as he; she was just deliberately being difficult.

He smiled to himself. Well, two could play that game. "I am going to make you sit outside, you know. It's the only proper way to have coffee in the wintertime."

She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _"sadist."_

The man on the crosswalk sign flashed white and the two of them stepped off the sidewalk, lingering a little to let the horde of frantic businessmen rush across the street first.

"Only when dealing with a strict non-romantic. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Who says I'm not romantic?" she snapped, her eyes flashing.

Oh, she was so fun to tweak…why weren't all women this fun to mess with? "I do."

"And just what do you know about me?"

"I know that music is of extreme importance to you—as are your grades. And friends."

"Music is romantic."

"Granted. But that's where your romantic percentage _stops_."

"Hey, that's a little—" Her sentence cut off short, her eyes going wide. "Mir—"

The sound of screeching brakes and a sharp blast of a horn cut through the wintry hush as the errant taxi barreled towards them. Sango's entire body tensed and her nails dug into his arm.

He didn't think. Couldn't think.

_Sango_—


	4. Movement IV: Presto

**Cacophony**

**-x-**

**Movement IV: _Presto_**

-

-

-

All she could see was that taxi heading straight towards her. She didn't have time to scream, to leap out of the way—

In a matter of split seconds she saw the taxi screech to a shuddering halt barely three feet in front of them and simultaneously felt herself lifted off her feet and into the air.

No, not in the air—just in Miroku's arms. He was breathing heavily, his dilated pupils standing out in his purple eyes as he looked down at her in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah…" she said, trying to catch her breath. "Yeah, I'm okay. Are—are you?"

"Now I am," he said, cracking a grin. Still holding her, he jumped back onto the sidewalk where they would be (relatively) safe.

The taxi driver, who was swearing up a storm, carefully maneuvered around the pedestrians and then shot down the street like a bat out of hell once again.

"Remind me why I wanted to come here for college again…?" Miroku muttered.

Sango sighed and rested her head against his chest for a minute before wrapping her arms around his neck, preparing to climb down onto firm ground… when she suddenly felt a hand placed in a _not_ so favorable place.

She shrieked and tried to shove him away—while she was still in his arms. The result was both of them tumbling to the ground in a heap, Sango swearing and Miroku laughing.

"What was that about?" she ground out, poking his chest hard. "You thought you would take advantage of the moment and cop a feel, huh?"

"I couldn't help myself."

"I'm sure you couldn't!" she huffed, landing a good blow in the ribs.

"Hey now—" He grinned up at her. "What's all the fuss about? You know you like it on top."

She scrambled off of him and onto the ground, scooting as far away as she could. "Pervert!"

People were staring now, but she didn't care. That little—taking advantage of her like that! She was _this close_ to beating him to a pulp.

Miroku now stood and dusted himself off dignifiedly and offered her a hand.

_Ha, yeah right._ She pointedly ignored the hand and rose to her feet. "You can forget that coffee."

His smile didn't even falter. In fact, it _grew_. "Aw…please? Even if I promise to be on my best behavior?" He kneeled down, taking her hands in his.

"Look, mommy!" Sango heard a little girl say. "They're gettin' married!"

Sango jerked her hands out of his grasp. "Do you take some perverse pleasure in humiliating me? Oh wait…I forgot…you _are_ a pervert!"

"A silver tongue," he clucked, rising to his feet again. "Fortunately, my dear, I have thick skin. And a hard head. Let's go—I promise this coffee will be worth it."

"It must be some damn good coffee," she said. "But the answer is still 'no.'"

What was with that smile on his face…?

"Well, we know how to fix that, don't we?"

"Hamaguchi—you stay away from me—!"

And yet again she found herself swept up into his arms; only this time she was carried across the street, with no blaring horns, screeching brakes, and insane taxi drivers. "You—you—put me down!" she spluttered, trying to climb out of his arms.

"As you wish, milady," he said, dropping her in one of the café chairs underneath the quaint little umbrellas that adorned the wrought-iron tables. "You wait right here while I go order our coffee."

"Fine," she huffed, considering escaping the minute he turned his back… but decided that was _too_ rude. She wasn't without manners. But then again, he _deserved_ to be left alone…

"And don't you dare think of sneaking off while I'm ordering the drinks," he said, sending her a cheeky grin.

_There he goes with that mind-reading thing again! God!_ "I won't," she sighed.

"What would you like to drink, Sango?" he asked, lingering by her chair.

"Hot chocolate. With marshmallows. Big puffy ones."

"Hot chocolate," he repeated in amusement. "Okay, that I can do."

"Good. Because I am not in a mood to be reckoned with."

"I shall appease the beast with sugary foodstuffs."

She nodded in satisfaction.

He sighed theatrically. "You're so demanding."

"_You're_ the one who insisted we go for coffee."

"That I was. How silly of me to forget." He tucked his hands into his pockets. "I'll return shortly."

"'Kay…" She watched him leave, waiting until he was inside the building to breathe a sigh of relief.

What was it about that man that made her so…jittery?

-

-

-

Miroku crossed his arms, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the line crawled forward. Unbeknownst to him, he had a slight frown on his face—paired with his navy collared shirt and windswept hair, Miroku had unwittingly struck a model pose.

Inuyasha's words kept echoing around in his head. _"All the girls you go out with are those that respond positively to your flirting and groping, which indicates that they are air-headed bimbos. You find a woman that slaps you topside for doing such a thing, and you've landed yourself a June Cleaver."_

Oh, Sango had smacked him topside, all right. She'd landed a few good blows to his ribs as well. He touched his abdomen gingerly, and chuckled a bit when he found a few sore spots. _That girl really can hit—no wimpy stuff for her. _

"Sir? What would you like?"

"Huh?" He snapped out of his trance. "Oh—two hot chocolates, please. Extra marshmallows."

The girl behind the cash register raised a dark brown eyebrow which suspiciously didn't match her light blonde hair. "We don't have marshmallows here. Sorry."

"Oh…that's okay then. Just give me the hot chocolates."

-

-

-

Sango drummed her fingers on the table, lazily watching the wind blow newspapers, coats, hats, and umbrellas. It was rather entertaining to see people chase after various clothing items while trying not to hit anyone.

"Here." Miroku appeared beside her, setting her hot chocolate on the table. "Is that chocolatey enough for you? I ordered extra chocolate."

"Where're the marshmallows?" she asked, not wanting to sound petty, but feeling as if she'd been gypped. Hot chocolate without marshmallows? That was like…a jelly sandwich with no peanut butter.

"We're going to go get some now."

"We are?"

"Yup. There has to be a food mart somewhere around here."

"We're going to buy marshmallows."

"You want them, don't you?"

She sighed and stood. "The things you have to do for good service these days."

He smirked. "Go file a lawsuit so that every coffee shop is required to have an extra stock of marshmallows in the back cupboard."

"Maybe I will," she said thoughtfully, taking a sip of her hot chocolate as they strolled down the sidewalk. She breathed in deeply and smiled contentedly. "It smells like Christmas."

Miroku shot her a quizzical look. "It's only the beginning of November."

"Yes, but…I don't know, the wind, the hint of snow, scent of the trees—whatever, it smells like Christmas."

He grinned. "And you said you weren't a romantic."

She bristled. "I'm not."

" 'It smells like Christmas,'" he mimicked. "Now if that's not a romantic statement, I don't know what is."

"What makes you the expert on romanticism?"

"I have a degree in romantic literature."

"Literature from the romantic era? Or actually trashy-slash-romance novels?"

He sighed. "Damn. That's what I get for asking out a smart woman."

"Scary to realize your little jokes don't work on some women, huh?"

"Just drink your hot chocolate."

She did so and smiled softly. "Mmm… I would almost turn romantic for this."

"Good to know," he murmured to himself.

"There's a grocery," she said. "Want to see if they have any marshmallows?"

"By all means—" He held the door open for her and they stepped inside, letting the warmth of the store settle in.

"Much better," said Sango, automatically moving down the front of the store, looking down the aisles for marshmallows. "There they are!" she said, sprinting down one of the aisles. She pulled the bag of jumbo marshmallows off the shelf and inspected it carefully. "It'll do."

She lobbed the bag at Miroku, who caught it deftly and said, "I'll pay for it."

"You don't have to."

"But I want to."

"You paid for the drinks."

"With which the marshmallows were supposed to come."

Unable to think of a good reply, Sango reached out to grab the bag, but he held it above her head and grinned down at her. "You're cute when you're mad."

"Liar." But she felt the blood rising to her face.

"You're blushing," he said gleefully.

"Yes, I know."

"Doesn't anyone ever compliment you?"

"Not normally, no."

"Really?" he said, surprised. He'd been joking.

"They're too scared to. The last man that called me beautiful was sent to the infirmary with a bloody nose."

Miroku stared at her. "Why?"

"Because I'd heard him tell another woman not five minutes before that she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, and that he would like to see that beauty in its entirety sometime."

"So he was a lecher desperate for a one-night stand—does that justify beating him up?"

"Yes. He was my boyfriend."

Realization dawned on him. "Oh…" He lowered his arm, giving her plenty of time to steal the marshmallows. But she didn't. She couldn't when he was staring at her like that.

"So he was a lying, cheating bastard, is that it?"

"Those were my exact words." His gaze was getting disconcerting. "Look, it's okay. It was a long time ago."

"It's not okay if you're still carrying around emotional baggage."

"I'm not!" she fired back, her eyes flashing. "I'm just a little more wary of men who flippantly give compliments to get what they want."

"Like me?" he said, his eyes narrowing.

"No, not like you! That's not what I was saying. I mean, you could be that kind of man…I don't know—I haven't known you long enough…" She stopped, aware that she was babbling. _Curses_. "Let's just drop the subject, okay?!"

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. "Sure, Sango. Anything for you."

He turned and walked towards the checkout counter, pulling a few dollars out of his pocket.

Damn it, she'd offended him. Again.

Sango wearily rubbed her forehead. From how things were looking, she was probably going to be single her entire life. Which wasn't looking that bad at the moment. No worries, no men, no consequences…

So why did she feel so lonely?

-

-

-

Miroku heard Sango tentatively come up behind him and shift from foot to foot. He wanted to turn around and reassure her that all was well, that she shouldn't regret her words… but he didn't really feel like doing such at the moment.

Did he have a sign on his forehead that said: "WARNING! LECHER!" or something? What was it about him that always made women assume he was an egotistic playboy? Was it his confidence that only came from self-assurance? Or was it that he liked to flirt? Did that necessarily make him dangerous? Flirting was the best possible way to assess a person; if he didn't like a girl, he wouldn't ask them out. In his opinion, this was better than a man who was "committed" to a woman for about a week before dumping her.

He sighed and handed the cashier a five dollar bill before scooping the bag of fluffy white puffs into his hand. "Keep the change." He turned to Sango and offered her his arm: "Shall we go finish our hot chocolate, then?"

"Sure," she said a little uncertainly. "You aren't…mad?"

"At you? No."

"But you are mad."

"I didn't say that."

"But—"

"Sango. It's okay. How 'bout we just enjoy the rest of the evening together?"

She bit her lip, a habit that he realized to mean she was nervous or unsure. "All right."

-

-

-

They wandered outside the shop and stopped underneath the dark green awning. Miroku ripped the bag of marshmallows open and allowed Sango to take her pick. She smiled a little and scooped out four marshmallows, shoving all of them into her drink at once. The chocolate liquid rose dangerously towards the edge of the cup, but she quickly took a sip.

"Ah…now it's perfect."

"Good." Miroku dropped a couple of marshmallows into his drink and then tucked the rest of the bag into one of the pockets of his cargo pants.

They walked along the sidewalks for a while in silence, watching the rest of the city's population pass them by. It wasn't really one of those comfortable silences between friends—it was more of those silences in which both parties are wincing and trying to think of a topic without sounding lame.

"It's cold," said Sango finally.

"Yeah."

"Think we'll get snow anytime soon?"

"Hopefully. So…what are you majoring in?"

"Haven't decided yet. Possibly Art History with a minor in music. You? Oh wait—you're a music major, aren't you?"

"Actually, no. I'm majoring in photography. I'm only minoring in music."

"What! With your talent you could _easily_ be Principal chair of the New York Philharmonic! Maybe even the London Symphony!"

"But that's not what I want to do," he said, giving her a little smile. "Thank you for your praise, but believe me when I say there are a thousand other people whose talents match mine exactly. It would take many more backbreaking years of work before I could earn that position."

"Don't be afraid of hard work if the result will make you happy." She nearly smacked herself when she realized how accusatory that statement sounded.

"Oh, I'm not lazy," he said lightly, not seeming to be offended, "it just doesn't appeal to me. If I really wanted to be a professional performing musician, I would work my ass off to become one… but the cello's merely a hobby for me. An escape. Like yours, I presume."

"Yeah," she murmured. _Though I'm nowhere near as good as you are._ "Do you do anything with your photography?"

"Well, when I'm not modeling, I photograph the other models."

_That's right. I'd almost forgotten he was a model_. "Do you enjoy it?"

"Sure. I get to take pictures of sexy women for hours on end."

She rolled her eyes, although she'd practically invited that one. "You work for _Playboy_, don't you."

"No," he said, laughing a bit. "But it's not far off."

"I can imagine."

"You need to let me take your picture sometime. In the sunset, with the light reflecting off your hair. My professor would die of happiness."

She shrugged self-consciously. "If it'd make you happy."

"It would."

Sango checked her watch and realized how late it was. "I think we should start heading back now. I need to get home in time to finish some reading and then get to bed."

"Just how early do you go to sleep?"

"Later than you'd ever want to know; but since these early morning rehearsals are robbing me of my sleep-in time, I figured I need to catch up before I completely crash."

"You sure this isn't just an excuse to escape my company?"

"No, I swear! I really need to—" She caught his smirk. He was joking. "Very funny."

"But you're so fun to tease."

"Whatever you say, Miroku."

-

-

-

Half an hour later, they were back at the studio, their cellos still on the stoop, as promised. Hakadoushi was still standing there, face as blank as ever.

"Well, I guess you were right," she said, hefting Kirara onto her back. "Thanks for the hot chocolate."

"My pleasure." He picked up his Pedronelli, but let it in his hand. "I'll walk you home."

"That's not necessary," she hastily assured him.

"But my chivalry demands it," he said, shooting her an insufferable grin. "Come on, I thought you had reading to do."

She heaved a sigh and began to walk. "I guess I can't stop you if you try and follow me."

"Nope." He quickly fell into step with her.

"Isn't this out of your way?"

"On the contrary…"

She internally groaned.

"—my apartment's only half an hour away—in this direction," he finished. "I live closer to the NYU campus than Columbia."

"Oh." _Peachy_.

They reached her apartment complex without mishap, and they stood in front of the doorway, shivering in the cold.

"Thanks for the hot chocolate," Sango said, wondering what type of goodbye he was expecting. "There's nothing better than having hot chocolate with marshmallows on a cold day—oh, which reminds me…" She took Kirara off her back and shrugged out of his jacket. "Thanks for the loan."

"No problem." He slung it over his arm and pulled her into a brief hug. "Stay warm." And with that he turned and walked off, a few female heads turning as he passed.

Sango watched him for a moment or two and then sighed. She opened the door to the lobby of her apartment with her foot and disappeared inside.

-

-

-

Kagome stepped out of the bathroom to find the phone ringing. "Why do I feel like all I do is answer this thing?" she murmured to herself as she closed the door and sprinted for the phone. "Hello?"

"Kagome, what the hell?!"

"Inuyasha?"

"You're an hour late! You were supposed to call me at five, but you didn't, and I've been alternating between calling your cell and house phone for the past 60 minutes!"

"Inuyasha. What's this all about? I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

"Yes, but there's a _blizzard_ outside! I was afraid you'd gotten lost in it or something!"

"A blizzard, Inuyasha?"

"Pretty damn close to one!"

_Yeah, it's probably a flurry_. "Sorry, I was in the bathtub. So it's snowing, huh?"

"In the tub for over an hour?"

"I like baths, okay?" she said defensively.

"Okay," he said, backing off a bit. "Sorry. I was worried about you."

Her temper deflated like a popped balloon. Inuyasha seemed like an overprotective jerk, but in the end, he was really just concerned about her. "Thanks, Inuyasha."

"Welcome." Then: "Hey, do you know if Sango's home?"

"No. Why?"

"Miroku just headed over there to check on her. Supposedly the power in her area's gone out. He was worried about her."

Kagome grinned. "Was he now?"

"I know that tone of voice. I think I'll go back to sleep now and leave you to your devious little plans."

"I love you, Inuyasha."

"G'night, Kagome."

Tonight she didn't even bother to worry about when he'd get the guts to actually say "I love you" back to her. She placed the phone in her receiver and looked longingly at her bed, knowing that she would be sleeping on pins and needles all night.

-

-

-

Sango woke up shivering. "_Damn_, it's cold!" She drew her blankets around her more tightly. "What happened to all the heat?" she mumbled, not wanting to budge from her bed.

A few more minutes of shivering, and Sango finally decided that she'd better go check her heating unit to make sure it was still working. She lazily rolled off the bed, pulling her comforter with her, and padding out of the bedroom and into the main room with her comforter draped around her like a royal robe.

Blearily she stared at the unit, vaguely aware that it wasn't making any noise. She held her hand up against the slats and felt no heat emanating from it. "Dang, what's the matter with this piece of crap?"

She fumbled for the light switch on the wall, flipping it upwards.

Nothing happened.

"What the…" She flipped it up and down, growing more frustrated when no lights suddenly came to life. "Are all my stupid lights burned out?" She moved to the kitchen and flipped on the fluorescent lights… but yet again nothing happened.

"Don't tell me the friggin' power went out!" she groaned, sinking to the floor in a heap. "God, it's cold in here…" She huddled herself into a ball, trying to keep warm off her body heat. "Maybe I'll just sleep in layers tonight."

Too bad she was so lazy. She was still tired and she did not feel like moving from her spot on the floor. _Wonder what time it is…? _She couldn't see the clock without her contacts in either. _Oh well. I'll just sit here for a while until I feel like getting up and finding some more sweaters and socks._

Which she knew probably wouldn't be till morning. When she _had_ to get up.

Oh, the curse of laziness.

Her ears perked up. Someone was knocking at her door? She moaned and pulled her comforter more snugly around her. Probably her neighbor, Mrs. Pinkley. The woman was four-foot-ten, with hair about a foot tall to make up for the shortness, nearsighted, and terrified of the dark. She still slept with a nightlight. Once when she was sick and bedridden, her nightlight had burned out around 4 a.m. Sango, who had just fallen in bed an hour before after a long performance, awoke to the sound of her phone ringing. On the other line was Mrs. Pinkley, requesting that Sango hurry over next door and change the bulb of her nightlight.

_Sorry, lady, I ain't changing no nightlights tonight_.

Mrs. Pinkley started knocking more persistently. Sango resolutely stayed mute. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep…?

"Sango?"

Sango jumped. That voice was definitely masculine. And unless there was something Mrs. Pinkley was hiding, she was guessing it wasn't her neighbor at the door…

"Sango, are you in there? I wanted to see if you were all right."

Wait a second… "Miroku?" she called, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. It could be any weirdo out there, and she'd just given him a name to claim! Stupid, stupid!

"Sango? Open the door, please."

"How do I know you're really Miroku?"

"Because I'm a lecher who really just wants to see you in your sleepwear."

…yeah, it was him.

"What do you want?" she called, now really not wanting to get up.

"I was worried about you! You have no electricity, no heat—"

Was he really? "Well…thank you… but I'm too lazy to get off the floor. Can't you just pick the lock or something?"

She could almost see him rolling his eyes. "Sango, get off your lazy butt right now and open this door."

"Yeah? What'll you give me for it?"

"Heat."

"Really? Wait…what kind of heat?"

"Just open the door, you skeptic."

"Fine," she sighed, reluctantly getting to her feet. She opened the door and demanded, "What time is it?"

Miroku looked mildly disappointed. "You're not in sexy lingerie."

"Of course not, idiot, it's _snowing_ outside. I have about three layers on right now and I'm _still_ freezing! And where's that heat you promised me?"

"Right here." He wrapped her in his arms and picked her up, bridal style. He walked through the doorjamb and shut the door with his foot before walking over to the couch.

"Do you have a propensity for picking up girls and carrying them places?" she mumbled, her head resting on his chest. He was practically radiating body heat; it was making her sleepy. "And what time is it, anyway?"

"Only a little after ten."

"That's all?" She was disappointed. Only two hours of sleep? She'd hoped that it was at least two a.m. or something… "Man." She blinked. "And how did you know where I lived?"

He smirked. "Go back to sleep, Sango."

"No!" she said, but spoiled the effect with a rather large yawn.

"I'll make it a bedtime story, how's that?" He'd settled them on the couch so that he was leaning against the armrest and Sango was curled up at his side.

"Don't wanna fall asleep with you here," she muttered.

"You don't trust me?"

"No…"

"Fair enough. If I behave myself tonight, will my credibility increase?"

"Maybe…" He really was warm. And she was _so_ tired…

"Inuyasha knew your address through Kagome," he said in his melodic baritone voice. It was lulling Sango to sleep. "I'd already seen your building, so finding your apartment wasn't hard at all."

"Why'd you come?" she murmured, half-asleep.

He stroked his thumb over her hair, pulling her closer to him. "I was worried about you."

"Why…?" She shivered and snuggled closer to the heat.

Miroku smiled gently at her instinctive gesture. The feelings that this girl evoked… "Because you had no power. And I didn't want you to freeze to death tonight."

"How…thoughtful…" she was barely lucid now.

After that, no more words were exchanged. Miroku sat there for a long time, just watching her sleep, until he finally nodded off to sleep himself, using her head as a pillow.

Outside, the snow dusted the city a clean white, blanketing the streets, buildings, and few trees with a sugary powder. The never-ending sound of the city that never sleeps was muffled and all was quiet as the two young musicians took comfort in each other, their cares and fears left behind as they journeyed through the subconscious together.

-

-

-

_Author's Notes:_ wow, look, I actually finished this! I'm feel so accomplished… I didn't think the cliffhanger was that evil (did you really think I'd kill my favorite pairing off? hah). To answer some questions, yes, I play in a youth orchestra (flute and piccolo) and I'm in marching and concert band at school, so please excuse the band jokes. I like to choose topics I'm comfortable with, lol. I could never write a fic about, say, football. I hope every had a good Christmas! Please tell me what you thought of the chapter, I love to hear from you guys! (--loves reviewers--) Bye for now…


	5. Movement V: Adagio

**Cacophony**

**-x-**

**Movement V: _Adagio_**

-

-

-

White. All white. She was walking through a world on the poles of light spectrum, with white trees, white grass, white sky, white houses… and then—in the distance—a shade of… lilac?

Purple. Coming closer, now, like a beam of violet light… only it was shifting, changing, taking the form of a… man? The purple was condensing until it was two almond circles near the top of the purple man-shaped wisp of fog…

_"Sango,"_ the fog-man whispered. _"Sango."_

_ "What do you want?"_ she whimpered.

_"You…I need you… please…"_

_ "No—I…"_ Cold. She was so cold—

Sango opened her eyes, her breath catching slightly as she jolted out of her dream. _Weird…_

Then she turned her head and shrieked. _Miroku?__ What the hell is he doing here! _

Miroku winced but didn't change his position. "And good morning to you too."

"What are you doing in my apartment!" _All snuggled up next to me?_

"You don't remember?"

"I remember going to bed early because I was exhausted!"

"Nothing else?"

"No. What did you do to me?"

"Oh," he shrugged, "not much. Took advantage of you a couple of times, took some pictures to send the porn channel…"

She blinked rapidly, her eyebrows lowering warningly.

"Kidding," he said quickly, tugging her closer so that she now sat in his lap. "A snowstorm hit last night. The first of the season. Your power went out and I came over to keep you warm."

"Oh…"

"You're really cute when you sleep."

"It's rather disconcerting to wake up to someone staring at you, actually. You make a habit of watching people sleep?"

He winked. "Just girls who take my breath away."

"Quoting song lyrics is always a nice fall-back," she said, giving him a quirky grin. She really wasn't mad. Just surprised. And… pleased. She had this tingly warm feeling spreading inside her that she suspected had nothing to do with the fact that Miroku was still radiating heat like an oven.

He smoothed back a piece of hair that had fallen in her face.

"How come you're always touching my hair?" she asked absently, pushing the strand back farther so it wouldn't be tempted to pull that stunt again.

"Because." He ran his fingers through it lightly.

She shivered at his touch. "Because why?"

"Just because." He drew in a breath and carefully stood up. Sango was left feeling bereft without her warmth.

"Want some breakfast?" he asked, walking over to her kitchen area..

"Um…sure."

"Toast or eggs?"

"Cereal?"

He half-turned. "You need something more substantial than that."

"I'm not hungry," she said, only to have her stomach growl half a second later. She flushed under Miroku's wicked grin. "My stomach lies!"

"Despite your stomach's moral issues, you're going to need plenty of energy today."

"What for? I don't have classes until ten. And recording isn't until five tonight. Speaking of which, what time is it?"

"A little after seven. And you're going to need the energy for our snowball fight in an hour or two."

She stared at him. "Our what?"

He grinned at her and tucked two pieces of bread into her toaster. "Don't tell me you weren't going to take _advantage_ of all this beautiful snow?"

-

-

Still grinning like a little kid an hour later, Miroku ushered Sango up onto the roof of her apartment building. It was completely empty, which surprised Sango a bit; the roof was a favorite place for secret rendezvous and such. Although at seven o'clock in the morning, she supposed such meetings wouldn't be so "secret."

"You look cute in pink," she teased Miroku, who only pulled the scarf tighter. "I think you should shop for it more."

"And I wouldn't have pegged you as a pink person," he said, inspecting the scarf and gloves that Sango had lent him.

"I'm not," she shrugged, stooping down to pack some snow into a ball. "But Granny sent me these and I didn't have the heart to give them to Goodwill. Besides, you wear them so well I'm thinking of just donating them to _you_."

"So I'm a charity case now, am I?"

"Yes. Anyone who hasn't seen snow before is to be pitied. You've been deprived."

He shrugged. "California surfer boys don't usually get a chance to see fluffy white stuff."

"At least now I know why you were so excited to see snow. At first I thought you hadn't developed past adolescence."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure." She smiled, assuring him that she was joking. Cheesy song lyrics or not, she really did take his breath away. He let his gaze rest on her for a minute, just savoring the picture of Sango smiling. She was finally opening up… and he was going to savor every minute.

-

-

"What are you staring at?" Sango called, startling him out of his reverie.

"Nothing. Just—" He cut off with a yelp when he was hit with a cold, hard ball of snow. "Ouch, that hurt!"

"Come on, beach boy, fight back!" she laughed.

A slow grin spread across his face as he scooped some snow into his hands, packing it into a hard ball. He dodged a snowball that Sango flung at him and lobbed the snowball towards her.

Sango jumped out of the way at the last moment. "Hah, you missed!" she yelled, only to be hit in the face with a snowball a second later.

Laughing, Miroku ran over to help her. "Sorry," he said between chuckles, "did I hurt you?" He helped brush off her face.

She impatiently pushed his hands away, although she was smiling. "Don't try and baby me—you want to win fair and square, right?"

He smiled and retreated a few yards back. "I won't go easy on you," he warned.

"I think it's I that should be saying that."

She dodged a snowball aimed toward her chest, but immediately was hit by another. "What—?" Then she noticed that he had a snowball in each hand. "You're ambidextrous!"

Miroku smirked at her.

"Cheater," she grumbled, taking him off guard and hitting him square on the chest. "You have an advantage."

_Whack_. It was her turn to get hit.

"All's fair in love and war." _Smack._

"And this one is classified as which?" _Whack._

"I'll leave that for you to decide." _Smack._

"You're just afraid of picking one or the other." _Whack whack._ "You and your ambidextrism! I'm going to get you for that!" She started firing a rapid succession of snowballs at him.

Miroku laughed and charged right towards her, getting hit with a few snowballs, but not seeming to care. "That's not a word."

"But it sounded good." At that moment she realized that he planned to tackled her—so she spun on her heel, kicking up snow in the process, and ran.

Only problem was… the roof wasn't that big in diameter. And Miroku was gaining ground fast.

Praying that her tactic would work, she stopped short and made a 180 degree turn before charging in the other direction.

Miroku reached out and wrapped his arm around her waist, which was a good plan to begin with, but the inertia did its duty and for the second time in two days, Sango found herself on top of him.

The cellist grinned up at her. "You _really_ like the top, don't you? Come on, Sango, go for a little variety here."

"You and your perverse jokes!" She rolled off of him and kicked snow towards his face. "You play dirty."

"You got me." He grinned wickedly and leaned forward, catching her face between his hands. His thumbs made small circles on her skin as he regarded her intently.

Sango was having trouble breathing. That look in his eyes was beginning to scare her…

She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, staring helplessly into each others' eyes just like in a mushy romance film. Only… it wasn't sappy, just inquisitive. Curious. _The eyes are windows to the soul_. She was being drawn into the dark, dark blue hues of his eyes, and she actually felt like she understood with his gaze hooked with hers—

A soft cough startled her out of her daze and the spell was broken. Their heads swiveled to stare at the woman who was standing not five feet away from them in a long black coat. She was scuffing her black leather boots into the snow, causing little tuffs of white powder to flutter in the air. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything—"

Sango practically shoved Miroku off of her. "No, no, nothing at all!"

Miroku shot her a look, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Hello, Shima," he said, rising to his feet. "How are you doing?"

The woman smiled at him, holding out her hand. "Fine, thank you. And you, darling? How did the recording go today?"

"Well. We nearly got half the soundtrack done… didn't we, Sango?"

"Eh?" Sango was still sitting on the ground, staring up at the two people in front of her. "Oh, yes, we did." She hurriedly got to her feet, brushing off the snow from her backside.

"Sango plays cello too," Miroku explained to Shima. "She's assistant principal and very talented. I'm surprised she didn't beat me out for principal chair."

Sango snorted. "It's not nice to tell lies, Miroku, no matter how honorable they may be." She folded her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling the harsh chill of the wind, now that Miroku wasn't there to shield her. "I better leave now. I have some reading to catch up on, and chores to do. See you tomorrow, Miroku…nice meeting you, Shima."

The woman waggled her fingers in Sango's direction; Miroku smiled, his dimples catching her off guard once again. "Till next time," he said.

Sango quickly turned and hurried toward the exit, not looking forward to running down three flights of stairs—but hey, at least it would keep her warm.

She wasn't quite sure what prompted her to turn around when she reached the doorway; but she was utterly certain that the sight of Miroku and Shima locked in a passionate embrace made her fly down the stairs with much more fervor necessary.

-

"Idiot!" she whispered furiously as she pounded down the cold metal steps, her rapid descendent making an odd clanging metallic rhythm. "That _moron!_ What did he think he was doing, leading me on like that? I could practically _feel_ his desire to kiss me… but it wasn't _me_ he wanted to kiss! He just wanted _to kiss!_ Ignorant lech, see if I ever talk to him again—"

Her tirade was abruptly cut off when another person entered the stairwell, coming in on the fourth floor, one level above where she had to get off. She hoped he hadn't overheard part of her rant—the last thing she needed was people believing she was psychotic—but he marched right past her without even looking her way, his rather large lips pulled taut in a grimace.

Sango slowed her pace a bit, waiting to see if he'd get off on the fifth floor. He didn't.

Why did she have this nagging feeling that he was heading towards the roof…on a mission?

-

-

Inuyasha looked up from his book to see Miroku stagger into the apartment, a haggard look on his face. "What happened to you?"

"Shima's boyfriend found us on the roof."

"The one that looks like a fish?"

"Yeah."

"Ouch. What happened?"

"He threatened me. Shima cried. I'm forbidden to see her ever again."

"Oh, is that all?" Inuyasha returned to his book.

"But this time I'm actually going to heed his warning."

Inuyasha's head jerked up. "What!"

Miroku sank wearily into an armchair, propping up his feet on the coffee table. "It was too much of a hassle. And I didn't really like Shima anyway."

"So you two broke up?"

"We weren't officially going out."

Inuyasha shrugged. "Whatever."

"Good book?"

"It's for Philosophy."

"Oh. Never mind then."

Inuyasha studied him carefully. "What's that look on your face for?"

"Hmmm?" Miroku was staring out the window. "Oh, nothing…just wondering what it would be like to date a girl who actually _knew_ me…"

"Sounds like a plus," said Inuyasha dryly.

"Yeah…"

"Got anyone in particular in mind?"

"What…? Oh…no…"

"Mmm, so that's how it is. All right." Inuyasha threw the book on the ground, fed up with trying to decipher the author's hidden meanings. "You up for an intense game of foosball?"

"Sounds good to me."

-

-

Sango spent the rest of the day reading for her classes, practically, cleaning (yes, cleaning!), and… thinking about Miroku. She could not get the man off her mind, dammit, no matter how hard she forcefully tried to block his image from her mind.

_You're not allowed to think about him. You don't care, remember? And he has a girlfriend. He was just flirting with you…he didn't really _mean_ anything…_

She flopped onto her couch and flicked on the television, the idea of mind-numbing stupidity sounding better and better.

-

-

The next morning she awoke to Kagome yelling in her ear. _"Sango!_ Get up! Didn't you hear your alarm clock? It's been going off for nearly an hour now!"

"What…?" Sango cracked open an eye and buried her face back in the pillow. "Whattimeizzit?"

"It's almost eight! I was just about to leave for the studio!"

"Aw…" A string of curses were muffled by her pillow. She languidly rolled out of bed and padded towards the bathroom, grabbing a pair of jeans and a sweater on the way. "Go without me, I'll be there… in—" a wide yawn cut off her words—"a second."

Kagome stared at her incredulously. "You look awful. What time did you go to bed last night?"

"Around eleven… fell asleep around two…woke up at four, had some tea, went back to sleep…" The bathroom door shut resolutely and Kagome was left standing in Sango's bedroom. _Should I wait or go on without her?_

"And don't you even think about waiting for me," shouted Sango from inside the bathroom. "Loverboy's probably waiting on his motorcycle for you. And I need the sprinting exercise."

"All right, but hurry! I can tell you right now Takahashi's not going to stand for tardiness."

"Get outta here already."

Kagome grinned and walked out of her apartment, fairly sure that she heard Inuyasha honking from down on the street.

-

-

Her hair still wet from her five-minute shower, Sango once again found herself sprinting down the sidewalk in a desperate attempt to reach the studio _early_. She had fifteen minutes. And counting.

She _really_ had to get rid of this waking-up-late habit. People didn't take kindly to being knocked aside by a giant "guitar case." _Well, screw them. Guitar case indeed. Yes, it's a mutant. Something went very wrong in the Guitar Factory._ She willed her mental sarcasm to stab any deserving recipients with its lethality.

As she neared the studio, she was getting the oddest feeling of déjà vu—the heavy, overcast sky, running for the door with only five minutes to spare… but this time, there was no Miroku on the stoop with his cell phone.

_Thank god._

She yanked open the door and purposefully strove inside…

…only to crash smack-dab into Miroku.

Her eyes widened as the weight of her cello propelled her backwards. "God da—" was all she could manage before Miroku skillfully caught her around the waist, saving her from the inevitably painful fall and potential damage to Kirara.

"You okay?" he grinned.

"Fine," she said shortly, but the look of hurt that flashed across his face forced her to amend her words. _Be nice. You have no reason to be mad at him._ "I mean, thank you. It's been one of those mornings. I hate being late."

His friendly grin reappeared. "So I noticed. You're like an angry kitten that'll bear her claws at anyone that irritates her."

_You have no idea._ She disentangled herself from his arms and strode into the recording studio with nothing more than a tight smile sent his way.

He caught up with her, sliding an arm around her waist. "You sure you're okay?"

She pulled out of his half-embrace. "Yes."

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

"Something like that."

"How ''bout some hot chocolate during break? You need a pick-me-up."

"I brought homework along."

They'd reached the door of Studio 1. Miroku opened the door for her with a slight frown on his face.

"Thank you," said Sango before brushing past him.

"My pleasure," he muttered.

-

-

Miroku absolutely hated music by rote. He hated when artists just went through the motions of playing notes and rhythms—without emotion, the music didn't mean anything. It was like an unsolvable algebraic equation…the feeling just _nagged_ at you.

But that was exactly what he was doing. Playing by rote. He wasn't focused at all…which was bad, because this was the second-to-last session of the soundtrack. They'd already completed an hour of the movie's music and Takahashi planned to finish recording the second hour _today_. Not tomorrow, but the next day, would consist entirely of brush-ups.

It worried him that he was less concerned about his inability to focus than he was worried that Sango was avoiding him.

And she was. Not in so many words, but she was shifted so that she faced away from him, and they hadn't made eye contact in the past hour of playing.

He wasn't a mind reader, but he could definitely take a hint. She was avoiding at him. And he couldn't figure out why.

It was showing in his music. _Focus… focus…_

Takahashi randomly cut them off in the middle of a measure in the middle of a movement. He leveled the entire orchestra with a death glare that could have frozen fire. "I don't know what's going on today," he said, "but _nobody_ has their mind on this music. Even Golden Boy's solos sound like a high school student's interpretation." His eyes flicked over towards where Miroku sat.

Miroku was more offended by the term "Golden Boy" than he was about being compared to a high-school level musician.

"Maybe it's the weather, or mono, or the fact that it's the middle of the week," continued Takahashi, "but I am going to give you a half-hour coffee break—yes, right now—and when you come back in _exactly_ thirty minutes, you'd damn well better be ready to play like the professionals you are!"

Chastised, the orchestra muttered its consent. Without another word, Takahashi walked out of the studio.

With his peripheral vision, Miroku saw Sango quickly rise from her chair, not even bothering to put her cello away. Frustrated, he hurriedly put Kazaana back in its case and leaped to his feet, walking as fast as he could to catch up with Sango. He couldn't explain this…feeling of his, but he felt that if he didn't go after her, he might lose her forever.

This thought scared him more than it should have.

-

-

She made it to the front stoop of the studio before she heard his voice.

"Hey."

Her back stiffened. "Hey, Miroku." She took a cursory glance backwards (lord, he looked good today) before resuming her original pace. Hopefully he'd take the hint and not follow her.

But no, with a few extra-long strides he caught up with her. She kept her head down and tucked her hands into her pockets.

They walked in silence a few minutes or so, Miroku carefully maneuvering around other harried pedestrians so that he was always just next to Sango. Finally, she burst out, "Is there something you want?"

"To talk to you." The bitter cold wind was ruffling his hair and his blue eyes seemed more purple than usual.

"So talk."

"Will you listen?"

"I suppose," she grumbled.

"Are you going to respond, or is this a 'pretend to be a doorpost' day?"

"Personally, I think doorposts are underrated—" she caught his look and realized this—whatever serious issue he wanted to discuss—wasn't a joking matter. "I'll respond."

"Good. What have I done to upset you?"

"Pardon?" She blinked, not expecting that.

"I've offended you somehow. What did I do?"

"Don't worry about it."

He reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "But I _am_ worried."

"You shouldn't be, since you have a girlfriend. And speaking of which—" She removed his arm from her waist—"you shouldn't be hugging other women if you're already taken."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh, well that makes me feel even better!" she said. "Considering I saw the two of you sucking face on the roof yesterday."

"You saw that?" He covered a smile. "So you're jealous, is that it?"

_Wrong_ thing to say. "You wish!" she snorted, her eyes flashing. "I saw another man stalking up the stairs—he was so intent that he didn't even see me. I'm willing to bet that girl you were exchanging saliva with was _his_ girlfriend, wasn't it?"

Oh, how he wished he could deny such an accusation.

"I knew it," she said, her voice laced with disappointment.

"Sango—"

"Don't. You've already fulfilled my expectations of you. My first impression of you was a lecherous playboy, albeit chivalrous and kind."

Well, that just made things all better, didn't it? But what could he do to refute such a statement?

"I'll just have to change your opinion of me then," he said brightly.

She blew out a puff of air. "I don't think that's necessary; we won't be seeing each other after Friday."

His stomach lurched, but he didn't let his reaction show. "Then I must redeem myself sometime in the next two days."

"Miroku…" She gave him a searching glance. "If people's opinions are so important to you, why do you give them reason to form negative ones?"

He opened his mouth but no words came out. He'd… honestly never thought of it that way. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and watched his boots as he took one step after another.

One step after another… that's how he felt while dealing with Sango. Other girls he could sweet-talk into believing anything he wanted them to, or use more… persuasive methods. What was it about this magenta-eyed musician that made him tread so carefully?

She was wrong; he didn't care what kind of opinions other people formed about him, he cared about what kind of opinion _she_ formed about him. He didn't try to reason out why—his mind hurt enough already.

"We should turn back now," she said, breaking his moment of pensiveness, "if we don't want to be late."

"Right…"

Silence prevailed once again.

"Sango."

She looked up at him.

"Will you allow me to take you to dinner tonight? As somewhat of a goodbye present? I have a gig on Friday, so after the recording session, we won't see each other again, as you said."

She wet her lips with her tongue. "Miroku…"

"I promise I won't try anything."

"But—"

"Just a friends' date. To redeem myself. And you deserve an evening of fun and relaxation."

"Oh…fine…" But the smile that graced her lips belied her reluctant tone.

Hope renewed, he boldly took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. He held his breath, waiting for her to pull away or snap at him… but she merely smiled again, and walked a little closer to him.

The warmth from their hands sustained him all the way to the studio entrance.

-

-

-

A/N: Two updates in two days! Man, I'm on a roll… everyone drop me a review and tell me what you think of this, because I lost precious sleep time to bring you this next installment of _Cacophony_. (; And the romance develops…slowly. Probably about three or four more chapters to go… not too sure at this point. Till next time! Review!


	6. Movement VI: Larghetto

**Cacophony**

**-x-**

**Movement VI: _Larghetto_**

**-**

**-**

The moment the studio came in sight, Sango dropped Miroku's hand. It had been a nice gesture (it was cold outside anyway) and it'd been so long since she'd just held someone's hand… but she didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea.

Although her hand seemed strangely devoid of warmth; and the look on Miroku's face made her squirm. "What?" she said.

He looked her in the eye. "If you're ashamed of being seen with me, you just had to say so."

"Asha—? I'm not!"

He smiled softly. "Okay."

"Miroku—"

"I believe you."

Annoyed, she hurried ahead a bit. Why did it seem like everything she did was wrong around this guy?

She skipped up the steps to the studio and pulled hard on the door—only to be jarred backwards when the lock held tight.

"Careful." Miroku steadied as she stumbled backwards from the inertia. "It usually helps to unlock the door first."

Sango halfheartedly glared at him. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." He reached under the mat and pulled out the spare key, unlocking the door for her. "After you, ma'am."

As she brushed past him, he caught her waist briefly and whispered, "I'll pick you up at seven," in her ear. She turned, opening her mouth to speak, but he strolled right past her into the recording studio.

Sango clenched her hands into fists and stomped her feet, throwing a miniature temper tantrum.

For the life of her, she could not understand what made Miroku Hamaguchi tick.

-x-

"Sango? What's the matter?" Kagome asked worriedly, sliding into the chair next to Sango as the musicians trickled into the room, not wanting to be late after Takahashi had just given them a half-hour coffee break. "You look upset."

"Really?" She played a few tuning notes and started to finger through part of the piece. "What gives you that idea?"

Kagome sighed crossly and stuck her reed in her mouth to wet it. "Becaush you shtalked into thish room like an angry mother tiger, and Miroku Hamaguchi shtrode in just after you with the exshact shame look on his face."

"You know you sound like some hick farmer with a piece of straw stuck in his mouth?"

"Yesh. Now anshwer my question."

"Yes, something's wrong." Sango continued to pluck at Kirara's strings. "I don't understand Miroku at all."

"Not many people do."

"Yes, but…"

"But what?"

"I'm going on a date with him tonight," blurted Sango.

Kagome choked and hurriedly spat her reed out so she wouldn't damage it. "Come again?"

"You heard me," Sango mumbled.

"You? A date? With Miroku?" A big grin split Kagome's face. "Sango, I'm so happy!"

"I'm not. I'm regretting accepting."

"Why? Don't you like him?"

"Yes—I mean—no. Not in that way. I think…" She suddenly burst into an angry melody, pressing her bow down so hard she feared it would break. "Why did he ask me, anyhow? It's not like he doesn't have a million other girlfriends, like the one I saw him making out with yesterday…"

Kagome blinked.

"But never mind that…"

"San—"

"Oboe!" Takahashi barked. "Are you going to tune the orchestra or not?"

Kagome turned bright red and stammered out a "yes, sir" before shoving her reed into her oboe. Sango, taking care not to look Takahashi in the eye, scrambled back to her seat.

"Naughty," Miroku whispered. "It's not good to tick off the conductor like that."

"Shaddup," she shot back, setting Kirara up. "I don't _have_ to go out with you tonight, you know."

"Yes you do," he said, completely seriously.

This threw her off guard. "What do you mean, 'yes I do'?"

"Miss Taijiya," said Takahashi. "The orchestra is ready if you are."

_You know what…?_ Sango was too angry, too confused to even care about being reprimanded. "I'm ready, now thanks. Go ahead, Sess-man."

She could hear Miroku choking beside her.

Takahashi was thrown off-guard for a minute, but recomposed himself quickly. "Rehearsal number four," he barked, cuing in the orchestra with a furious wave of his hand.

The cello section wasn't due to come in for another eight measures—even so, Miroku almost missed the cue. It's quite difficult to see the director when one is trying to smother chuckles behind one's hand.

-x-

"You can forget about that date tonight," fumed Sango, catching up to Miroku as they were walking out of the studio.

"I don't think so," he said, grinning. "I'll come pick you up at five. Sharp."

"Hey, wait you can't—" She grabbed his sleeve, stopping him from crossing the street. "Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

Sango raised an eyebrow. "On second thought, I have a lot to do tonight—"

Miroku slid an arm around her waist and tickled her playfully. "Be ready." With that, he ran across the street with the rest of the musician crowd.

"Hamaguchi—" Sango stomped her foot in frustration and uttered a few choice curse words.

Where _did_ that man get his self-confidence?

-x-

At 4:47 p.m., Sango was pacing around her apartment, dressed in only her undergarments. " 'Be ready at five,' he says. What exactly does he want me to wear? Is this going to be dressy? Semi-formal? Casual? _Semi-casual_?" She was about ready to rip her hair out.

"Fine. You know what?" She ruffled through her laundry baskets of unfolded clothes, finally coming up with a pair of navy Dickies pants. "If he wants to keep me in the dark—" She found a pair of comfortable flip-flops as well "—then he can just suffer the consequences." Throwing open her tiny closet, Sango pulled out her favorite tee-shirt of all times.

She'd found it by chance one day when she was strolling around the Village. It was a normal white tee-shirt… but with black music notes covering all surfaces. She'd practically ripped it off the rack and shoved it under the saleslady's nose. "I'll have this please!" she'd shouted. Five dollars for the "music note" shirt, as the lady had called it.

But it wasn't just a "music note shirt"—these notes weren't random. Sango was wearing a shirt with the first of the Bach Suites on it—what she'd played for her audition at NYU, which had ended up earning her a scholarship.

Yes, she'd tried to play her cello by reading off her shirt. (It hadn't really worked.)

Satisfied, she stalked over to her couch and turned on the TV, waiting for Miroku to arrive.

-x-

"You ready?" were the first words out of Miroku's mouth when Sango opened the door.

"I suppose so." Now that he was actually here, she was having doubts about this…_date_. She hated awkwardness—and she hated pretense.

Maybe she really should have turned him down…

He laughed. "Please, try and contain your excitement, for my sake."

She managed a small smile and tucked her arm into his. He had on jeans and a white button-down shirt—and what seemed to be his favorite shell necklace—so she was reassured that he wasn't about to lead her to some five-star restaurant where cocktail dress was an unofficial expectation. "And where," she asked him as he impatiently stabbed the elevator button, "are we rushing off to in such a hurry?"

"You'll see," he said again, grinning.

Sango sighed and allowed herself to be hauled down three flights of stairs and practically dragged down the street. "My building does have an elevator, you know," she said.

"We need the exercise. I don't know about you, but my idea of a working out is playing fast runs on my cello."

"You doofus," she laughed, dodging another pedestrian that Miroku nearly pushed her into.

"My right arm is so much more muscular than my left arm. It's ridiculous. Whenever I model, they always make me face left so my more buff arm is visible. It gets annoying after a while."

Sango couldn't suppress the snort that escaped her.

He shot her sly grin. "What, you don't believe me?" He flexed both his arms for her. "See? The right is bigger."

"Miroku, people are staring."

"So? More publicity for me."

"Can you sneak me into a shoot or two sometime? I really, really want to see you model."

He winked. "I am fully clothed, you know."

Sango whacked his arm. "That wasn't what I was implying."

"Honey, if you want me to model for you, all you had to do is ask. You didn't have to be so subtle about it."

Sango punched him this time. "Just where the hell are you taking me anyway?"

"Patience is a virtue, my dear."

"That saying went out with corsets."

"A shame," he sighed. "I'm sure husbands had so much fun trying to get their wives out of—"

"Miroku. Stop. Now." She didn't think she'd make it to this mysterious place alive.

"Cave-wo-man speak good?"

_This place had so better be worth it._

-x-

Sango stared at the sign hanging above the doorway. "A…museum?"

"Rare prints of European artists donated by rich bigwigs." Miroku was smiling contentedly. "The floors are covered in red carpet, and the walls look like ship sails—I don't know how they hung the paintings. But no one will bother you in there, I promise. It's one of my favorite places to go."

Sango shot him a confused look. "Do you always take girls to an out-of-the-way museum on a first date?"

"No."

"Then—"

"Well," he said, taking her hand and leading her up the steps. "I figured anyone who bought and wears a shirt with the Bach suites on it would most likely appreciate a place like this."

He was flattering her. He had to be. It was probably one of those lines—_"you're the only girl I could do this with" _type of thing. It didn't mean anything. Nothing at all.

Nevertheless, Sango couldn't help but blush a little when he handed her such a compliment.

Unless… it wasn't intended to be a compliment. _I wanted female company, and you're the only fool that was willing to come visit a museum with me._

Or maybe she should just stop analyzing.

"You coming?" Miroku was smiling, tugging at her hand impatiently.

_If that's the case, I'll enjoy myself and throw that in his face. Word._ "Yes. I'm coming."

-x-

"Look at this one!" Sango whispered, poking Miroku in the side. "Look at the texture they used—and how the colors blend like that to make that shadowy effect… Dude, that's awesome…" She trailed off and stared at the paintings like girl would stare at a crush.

Miroku smiled ruefully and shifted closer to her. His choice of the museum had been a test—he'd been thinking long and hard about his conversation with Inuyasha and decided to date a non-shallow girl… and what better place to test this theory than at an art museum?

The plan had backfired. He liked art, sure, but staring at it for hours wasn't exactly his idea of fun… But Sango was like a kid in a candy shop. He hadn't known she liked art. Hell, he wasn't really in the habit of getting to… _know_ the girls he dated.

Not that he was dating Sango or anything.

"Miroku! You're not paying attention!" She elbowed him again. "Look! See the chiaroscuro? This is definitely a Renaissance painting, the effects are crude, but at least the guy tried…"

_She's paying more attention to the paintings than me. _The thought made him smile. Well he could remedy that, couldn't he? He casually slipped behind her and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against him.

"Hey!" She pulled away and swiveled her head to glare at him. "What are you doing?"

"Getting more comfortable. If we're going to stand in front of each painting for more than an hour, we can at least be comfy."

Sango gave him a confused look. "Why did you take me here if this place bores you?"

_Damn, she's perceptive too? Dangerous._ "I wanted to see if you'd like it," he said, giving her (what he hoped was) a sexy smile.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously for a moment, but then relaxed. "Thanks," she said, sounding surprised and pleased. "That was sweet."

_Er__… crap…_

"But we can leave if you're bored," she said, pulling out of his embrace and pushing him towards the door.

Now he really felt bad. "But if you're enjoying yourself—"

She gave him a look. "Dates, by definition, are made up of two people. If one isn't having fun, that's kinda makes the point moot, doesn't it?"

Miroku stopped short in the middle of the doorway to a different gallery. "Well… geez… yeah…"

Sango rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Novel concept, Miroku?"

"I say," a nasal-sounding Brit behind them said, tapping his foot impatiently, "would it be too much of a bother to perhaps _move_?"

"Bugger off," she shot back at him.

Miroku snorted in amusement, grabbing her head and steering her towards the door. "Don't make trouble now."

"He asked for it; impatient git."

"Behave, now," he said as they exited the museum, still holding hands. He was mildly disappointed that she once again dropped his hand. Moody, he shoved his hands into his pockets. "So what are we going to do now that you insisted we leave?"

She shrugged. "_You_ planned the date."

"If my memory serves me correctly, it takes _two_ people to make a date."

"But not to plan one." She smirked.

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Fine, then. We'll just walk around for the rest of the evening."

Sango did the 'one-two-step.' "Works for me."

Then they fell silent—for more than five minutes.

To Miroku, this was torture. He _needed_ to fill up that silence… with something. "Say something," he burst out.

"Huh?" Sango turned to look at him, as if shaking herself from a daydream.

"Is my company so uninteresting that you have nothing to say?"

Sango looked surprised. "Have you never heard of a comfortable silence?"

"Uh… Every silence I've experienced as been anything _but_ comfortable."

"You must hang around high-maintenance people."

"I'm a model."

"Oh… right… but seriously, don't you think it's kind of nice just to walk around with someone else and just… not say anything?"

He shrugged. "Never done it before."

"Never?" She stared at him. "Don't you have any friends?"

"Of course I do."

"I mean girlfriends."

"Despite what I appear, I've never actually done two at once—"

"No, I mean—ew, Miroku—I mean friends that are girls. Like, just friends. Platonic."

"Uh…" He thought back. "Well… I've started off with friends that are girls… but somehow it always seems to progress…"

She shook her head. "That's a shame," she declared. "I will force you to go on walks with me in complete silence every week. As friends."

He looked at her sideways and smiled a little. "Heh. That's fine with me."

"Good," Sango said, grinning back.

Miroku quickly looked away. _God. She's gorgeous when she smiles. _Flawless skin, genuine smile… even the magenta eyes somehow added to her—radiance?

_I sound like a freaking poet. _"Hey, Sango… I wanted to ask you. What's with the contacts?"

Sango brow furrowed for a moment, but then her expression cleared. "Oh. Sorry, dazed off there for a second… um, I like them?"

"What's your natural eye color?"

"Brown."

"What's wrong with brown eyes?"

"Nothing."

"Then why the contacts?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

Miroku had the feeling that he wasn't getting the whole story. "Okay. So you're a music major?"

"Mmhm."

"Performance?"

"Well, I definitely wasn't going to do music education."

"You don't like kids?"

"No, no, I love them—but I wouldn't be able to stand hanging around them all day and then coming home to my own."

"Your own?" he repeated nonchalantly.

"Well…yeah…I mean, eventually."

_Is she blushing?_ Miroku hid a grin and surreptitiously moved closer to her as they ambled down the streets of the city. Although it was the City that Never Sleeps, the pedestrian traffic was a little more relaxed, so they didn't feel as bad taking such a slow pace. "I thought you were a… how did Inuyasha term it...? Oh yes, a 'man-hater.'"

Sango scowled slightly. "Inuyasha always manages to distort my philosophies. I'm not a _man-hater_. I'm just getting over a bad relationship and am a little… wary of the opposite sex right now."

"Ah. Well, at least that explains the contacts."

"Wha—?"

Miroku grinned a little and poked her arm. "Self-defense. You think the weirdness will turn guys away. Am a right?"

She turned her head away. "Absolutely not."

Miroku reached out and took hold of her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Liar," he said lightly.

"Am not." She pushed his hand away.

"I've known a few girls like that. Dying the tips of their hair purple. Wearing 3-D grey contacts. You girls think it pushes guys away—when it really only intrigues us."

"Is that right."

"Mmmhm…" He pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I'd like to see your real eyes."

"Only people I'm close to have that privilege."

Miroku wasn't sure if she meant that as an insult or discouragement—he took it as neither. He considered it an invitation. Or challenge.

Yeah, he preferred to think of it as a challenge.

"I'll look forward to seeing them," he said.

She gave him a slanted look. "A bit presumptuous, aren't we?"

"Just intuitive."

"Okay, Mr. I-Know-Everything-About-Women, shouldn't we be heading back now?"

"Getting tired?"

"I've had a long week," she said defensively.

"Cool it," said Miroku mildly. "We've _all_ had a long week." He took her hand to turn her around… but this time made sure to drop it before she had a chance to.

He wouldn't say he wasn't disappointed when she didn't seem to notice. He moodily shoved his hands into his pockets and unconsciously adopted his "model face"—the slightly-bored, stand-offish look. _I just wish she would say something…_

They finished the rest of the walk in silence, save for Sango commenting a woman's shoes, an advertisement posted on a wall, and Miroku responding in kind.

Feeling even more dejected once they reached her apartment building, he raised a hand to wave goodbye—

When Sango pulled him into a hug, resting her head on his shoulder. "Thanks," she murmured.

Befuddled, Miroku tentatively wrapped his arms around her. "For what?"

"Tonight."

"For the museum and the walk?" Geez, if this was all it took to please her…

"Yeah. It was nice. No one really likes to walk. They think it's a pointless waste of time."

"That's narrow-minded." _Yeah, you're one to talk. You like walks, just not silent walks._ But then again, for Sango…

"Mmhm." She pulled out of his embrace and smiled brightly, causing his heart to skip a beat. "See you tomorrow, okay?"

"Our last recording session."

"Yeah, thank god, right? I'll bet the group is gonna go out for a celebratory dinner or something—blow their entire paycheck."

Miroku smiled back. "Most likely."

"So… see ya later." She waved and walked through the doors into her apartment building.

"Bye," he called after her, once again adopting his model stance. He watched her disappear through the door and start to walk up the stairs before he allowed himself to leave.

He was getting much too attached.

-x-

Sango rolled over on her side, burying her face in her pillow. The moonlight was shining through her window and for once, the apartment was silent (the people next door with the teenage night-owl were on vacation), but she still couldn't fall asleep. She was stuck in that irritating rut of tossing and turning, because her brain couldn't turn the thinking switch _off._

_Stop thinking about Miroku._

She hadn't expected to enjoy their "date" that much—but he really was good company. Better than she'd expected. They'd laughed and talked and had a good time, which was rare occurrence with guy friends.

Sango should've been happy.

Only… she wasn't.

She kept thinking about the fact that he was a model and a playboy and had dated many, many girls over the years.

_And_ he was competition. _You hated him at first, remember? That would be great fodder for a relationship—"sorry, honey, I got the job." "So what? I got the LAST job."_

She buried her face further into the pillow. _Stop thinking about him! But geez, I wish I had his number so I could call him and get me out of this agony. Maybe I could find it in the phone book. But what if it's unlisted? Hm, I could ask Kagome. No, too suspicious. Off the internet? Yeah, I could find it somewhere there… and then I could call him and be all like, 'Sorry for calling so late, but I can't sleep and I thought—' What am I doing? STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM!_

It took her another two hours to finally fall asleep.

-x-

Miroku actually roused himself out of bed early that morning, looking forward to the recording session today. He whistled Tchaikovsky's Fifth as he shaved, not even deterred by the numerous pillows thrown at him by a grouchy Inuyasha, who had stayed up till the wee hours of the morning watching a _Star Wars_ marathon with Kagome.

He'd just reached his favorite part when a pillow actually made contact with his head. He was thrown off balance and cut himself. "Damn, Inuyasha." He was more surprised at his roommate's aim than he was upset.

"S'what you get…" Inuyasha mumbled from his place on the couch.

Miroku sighed and rummaged around the kitchen for a good fifteen minutes trying to find a band-aid before deciding to just show up to the recording session with a cut on his face. Who knew; maybe chicks really thought cuts were a sign of virility.

… or then again, maybe not.

"You still coming at one to meet us at the café for lunch?" Miroku called to Inuyasha as he shoved his sunglasses on his head. "Kagome'll be expecting you."

"You expect me to be up by one?" complained Inuyasha.

"Slacker, your girlfriend's got up at six this morning.

"She's…amazing like…that…" A slight snore informed Miroku that his roommate had gone back to sleep.

_Kagome's probably the best thing that happened to Inuyasha,_ he thought. Grabbing Kazaana, he made his way out of his apartment and hurried down the stairs. Something told him he was going to be early today…

-x-

_"Sango, do I really have to do this every morning?" _

Sango distantly heard Kagome yelling at her. She just pulled the pillow over her head… god, what was that pounding noise? And why was the room so damn hot?

Kagome burst into her room, tripping over a pile of clothes on the floor. "Geez, San, first you make me come drag you out of bed, then you make me trip over your dirty laundry? Thanks a lot."

"Nuh."

"Get out of bed, lazybones, this is only touch-up recording… it's only, what, forty-five minutes long?" Kagome yanked the sheets out from under her and swatted the pillow aside. "Come on you— Sango, you're burning up!"

"Mmm?" Sango didn't open her eyes. She felt Kagome lay a hand on her forehead (_Ugh, it's so cold_) and then leave the room. She vaguely wondered where Kagome went.

"I'm taking your temperature," her friend announced as she reentered the room.

"Kay…" Sango's voice was barely more than a whisper.

A few minutes passed. Then: "One hundred and one degrees. How did this happen? You were fine yesterday!"

"Dunno…" Sango cracked open an eye and saw Kagome standing above her, a worried look on her face.

"Well you can't go to the recording session today, that's for sure."

"Wait… what?" Sango tried to sit up. "Yes, I am!... oh, ugh—" She fell backwards as the room began to spin.

"No you are not. Don't worry, you'll still get paid—sickness is excused, right?"

"Yeah, tell that to Takahashi!"

Kagome's face adopted that familiar stubborn look. "All right, I will!"

Sango just closed her eyes again, too tired to argue.

Ten minutes later, Kagome returned. "That asshole," she fumed. "Thirty minutes out of over… uh… how many minutes in six hours? Whatever… and he'll only pay you half. _Half._ Where does he get off?"

"It's my responsibility to be there."

"That's not fair, though!"

"We're musicians. Get used to it." Sango slowly sat up. "I'm going."

"Like hell you are."

"I'll leave as soon as it's over, I promise. Now help me get out of bed."

"You're barely able to sit up, much less play your instrument."

"I need to pay this month's rent."

"With what, your life?"

"Very funny. Do you… hm… d'you think Inuyasha could give me a ride on his bike, maybe? Oh wait… you two were gonna go together…"

"No, that's a good idea. I'll walk today—I need the exercise anyway, I ate so much popcorn and candy last night, it's not even funny. Inuyasha and I really have to stop these movie marathons if he doesn't want me to get fat."

"Kagome—"

"Oh right… I'll go call him now."

-x-

Just as Miroku was reaching for the handle on the door of the Shikon recording studio, he heard a motorcycle pull up behind him. He turned his head instinctively, but did a double take when he saw Inuyasha pull his helmet off and help… _Sango_?... off of his bike.

Miroku suppressed a scowl and walked towards them. His brow furrowed when he saw Inuyasha slip an arm around Sango's waist and sling her cello case over his shoulder.

_You get your hands off her, you two-timing—_

"Oh, Miroku," Inuyasha said, sounding relieved. "Here, can you help Sango? Thanks, I'm about to fall asleep any minute now. Here—" he handed him the cello and then the brown-eyed musician. "Catch y'all later. I, uh, hope ya feel better, Sango."

Inuyasha always had been awkward about relaying sympathies.

Miroku watched him practically run to his bike and speed away in the blink of an eye. He looked down at the woman in his arms. Her head was on his shoulder, her eyes closed.

"Why are you here, Sango?" he asked gently, shifting her a bit so he could carry both her and the cello into the studio.

"I have an obligation." She straightened, taking her shoulder off his head. "I can walk, thanks."

"Would it kill you to accept help from a man?" He pulled her closer. "We're early, we can take it slo—" He froze in his tracks. "Your eyes are brown."

She promptly squeezed them shut. "Kagome helped me get dressed, but she drew the line at sticking her finger in my eyes."

"You sure you're well enough to play today?"

He smirked as she automatically opened her eyes. "_Yes_," she said testily.

"Whatever you say." _Why does she hide those eyes? I could stare at them all day._

They slowly made their way to the front door (it took some careful maneuvering to fit all three of them through) and then into the studio. Miroku carefully settled her in her respective chair and got out her instrument for her.

"Miroku, I could've at least gotten it out," she said crossly, accepting the bow from him.

"I know," he said simply.

She gave him a look and sighed. "Sorry. I'm acting like a b—"

"You're sick. It's okay."

"Being sick isn't an excuse for being rude."

"Yes it is." His eyes focused on something over her shoulder. "Hey, I'll be right back, okay?" He stood and walked away.

Sango's eyes followed him until he stopped to talk to one of the female violinists. _Figures_, she thought, and closed her eyes, hoping that she'd at least feel a little better when Takahashi started.

-x-

"Well congratulations, people," Takahashi said, lowering his bow. "We have officially completed the recording for the _In the Shadows_ soundtrack. Yura, my secretary, is sitting at the table in the lobby with your paychecks. You will all receive free tickets to the opening show of the movie too." He paused. "I heard it… er… _'sucks'_… but at least you can go enjoy the phenomenal music, right?"

The orchestra snickered.

"I thank you all for your cooperation and participation," he said stiffly. "You're free to leave now."

Sango slumped down in her chair, relieved that the ordeal was over.

Miroku turned to her and smoothed a strand away from her eyes. "I'll get you a cab back to your apartment, okay?"

"What? No! Miroku—"

But he was already out the door.

"Stubborn, _stupid_ man," she ranted under her breath, carefully (and slowly) packing her cello back up.

Miroku returned, an odd look on his face. "Found you a cab," he said, smiling a little. "Ready?"

"Yeah… what's the matter?"

He tilted his head. "Nothing."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Now let's get you into that cab." He helped her to her feet and slid his arm around her waist.

Sango was surprised the cab driver was still waiting by the time they got outside; she suspected Miroku had paid him a little in advance. "So… I'll see you around sometime, okay?" she said, climbing into the car.

"Yeah…"

She looked up at him and smiled. "Don't look so down—you know where I live. Feel free to stop by whenever."

This brought a small smile to his face. "Deal."

Sango pulled Kirara into the cab and set her on the seat. "Take care, Miroku."

"Bye, Beautiful." He shot her one last devastating grin and shut the cab door.

Sango waved as the cab pulled into traffic and then settled back into the sticky leather seat, feely vaguely disappointed. _I actually think I'm going to miss him…_

She sighed and stared out the window for the remainder of the ride, trying to swallow the lump that had somehow appeared in her throat.

When the cab driver jerked to a stop in front of her apartment building, she stumbled out of the car, trying to gain control of her wobbly legs. She set Kirara down on the sidewalk and began to rummage through her purse to find some cash, but the cabbie yelled, "Don't bother, missy, your boyfriend already paid for ya. Haveanicedaybye—" and then he hurtled off back into traffic.

Sango just stared after him, seemingly frozen to the sidewalk.

The tears that had been burning behind her eyes finally started to fall.

-x-

Miroku dejectedly shuffled into his apartment and set his cello on the coach before falling into his beanbag chair by the TV. He'd left the celebratory party early, not feeling up to it, which bothered him. He usually loved partying with friends, but today he could not rid the image of Sango out of his mind.

He was under no false illusions—Manhattan was geographically small, but it was highly unlikely that he'd ever see Sango again, except if he made a point to go visit her apartment every day. But they were both busy and their schedules probably wouldn't allow time for that.

Running a hand through his hair, Miroku sighed and snuggled down farther down into the beanbag. Maybe a nap would help.

If only they went to the same college. That really sucked. It would be much easier to keep in touch if they were at least on the same campus. Even if it was only for music classes. They could snag a practice room together and rehearse together or tutor each other on various—

Miroku sat straight up. _Tutor…_

He shot out of the beanbag and sprinted to the trash can, praying Inuyasha hadn't emptied it already (not that there was much of a chance that he had). He rummaged through it, looking for that letter with the purple letterhead—

Yes! There it was!

He smoothed out the wrinkles and read it again. _"Dear Mr. Hamaguchi, we here at New York University's Music Department have heard many positive comments about you and your musical ability and are offering you the opportunity to become a menor, or tutor, of sorts, to the music students here on campus. We will pay you accordingly, of course, for your time. You can pick your schedule and come in however many days a week you wish. We feel that peer-to-peer instruction will help the students here at—"_

Miroku lowered the letter and went on a mad hunt for a writing utensil, envelope, and stamp. He'd originally rejected the idea as a waste of his time… but now…

A large grin spread across his face as an image of a certain _brown-eyed_ girl entered his mind, clear as day. In his mind, she was smiling at his good fortune as well.

* * *

A/N: May 23! I am now 17 years old. :) 


	7. Movement VII: Vivace

**Cacophony**

**-x-**

**Movement VII: _Vivace_**

-

-

Sango missed the entire Econ lecture the next morning, which forced her to admit something was wrong. Her professor was moderately interesting, it was Friday, and it was a 10 a.m. class—all the requirements needed for her to pass the class.

But she could not keep her mind on _anything_ that morning. Her notes were a jumble of meaningless fragments and phrases—and hearts and stars and angsty song lyrics doodled in the margins. There were a few crossed out _Miroku_'s too.

_This is ridiculous._ She was trying _so hard_ to get that idiot out of her mind, but he wouldn't budge.

"Sango." Kagome nudged her friend from the seat beside her. "Pay attention."

"Huh?" Sango jolted out of a daydream yet again. "Uh—right. Thanks." She focused her eyes on the professor, trying to figure out what exactly she was talking about. She managed to find her place a few minutes later, and resumed taking notes.

Moments later, she found herself staring out the window again at the people walking to and fro on the sidewalks. Once or twice she thought she'd seen Miroku, and her heart had jumped—

_Stop it!_

"Just read up on those theories tonight, all right, guys?" her professor was saying. "Come prepared on Monday for small group discussions—have a great weekend!"

Sango blinked and slowly packed up her notebook and pen. She rubbed her temples, irritated that she'd have to do double homework tonight.

"You didn't hear a word of that lecture did you?" Kagome said, waiting for Sango.

"Uh… no… Guess I must be really tired or something." Sango avoided her friend's gaze and threw her bag over her shoulder. "Let's go. I want to get to orchestra early today."

"Go ahead, I need to find a candy bar or something to eat."

"Oh—all right, later."

Sango started off on her own, thankful to be alone for a few minutes. She exited the building and started her daily trek to the music department, over on the other campus, for once appreciating the busy sidewalks

Once having reached the music building, she slowed her pace, ambling down the corridors until she made it to the orchestra room. Normally she'd go right in and start playing, but… today she felt like trying that whole playing in the dark thing again like Miroku had showed her. She quickly moved on until she'd reached the practiced rooms, and found an empty one.

She flipped on the light switch out of habit, before remembering her goal. She turned it back off, started forward… and promptly stumbled into the music stand.

Biting back a few choice curse words, she righted herself and groped around for the chair. _I can tell this is going to be a good day already_, she thought sarcastically. Finding the chair in the dark was actually quite an ordeal, and by the time she got settled with her cello in her lap, she was close to giving up and just sleeping instead.

"But no, guilt will drive me to disctraction," she sighed, pulling Kirara out of her case and playing a few tuning notes.

She started with old, familiar tunes, simple pieces that she'd played for competitions or concerts from her high school years. Then she moved on to songs she just really liked and finally… she tried making up a song. (Like Miroku had told her to.) It really did sound terrible, but after making adjustments a few times, she had to admit it didn't sound half bad… of course, it did sort of remind her of that guitar medley she'd heard on the radio this morning, but that was fixable.

As always, she lost all sense of time and space while playing her music, so when the door to the practice room suddenly banged open and light flooded it, she shrieked.

"Sorry," a familiar voice said. "I just wanted to let you know that class was starting. I know you've been working hard, I've been listening to you—"

When Sango's eyes adjusted to the light, she realized why that voice sounded so familiar.

"What are you doing here?" she squeaked.

"Interning," announced Miroku proudly. "They're paying me, too—much better than Columbia offered me; maybe I should transfer over here?"

She hadn't gotten past the "interning" part. "What do you mean, 'interning'? Where is here? You mean the music department?"

"Yup, I'll be giving private lessons to any cellist that wants them, plus sit in on a few orchestra sessions to learn from your conductor, who, by the way, is very weird, but also very famous in the music world. Hey, you okay? You look kind of pale."

"Yeah, you just…startled me…" She forced herself to breathe. "So you'll be here—uh—every day?"

"Nearly. Every other day, more like." Grinning, he leaned against the doorjamb. "Looks like you haven't gotten rid of me so easily, hm?"

"Yeah… looks like…" She couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face.

-

-

"Hey, Sango, sorry I'm late," Kagome panted as she flopped down in the seat across from Sango. "Inuyasha waylaid me on the way here and… what are you so happy about?"

"Huh?" Sango jerked out of her reverie, realizing she'd been smiling dreamily. "Oh… uh… nothing. I just love pizza so much!" She took a huge bite of the greasy, cheesy mess.

Kagome eyed her. "Okay, spill."

Sango made a face at her. "How can you always tell?"

"I'm good like that. So. Does this have anything to do with Miroku?"

_Crap._ "What makes you say that?"

"I've never seen you go through mood swings like this before. Fluctuating between depression and euphoria like this can only be boy-induced."

"God, you make it sound like a drug."

"Exactly." Kagome smiled. "So it _is_ Miroku. Did he call you? Visit you? Propose to you?"

"You make it sound like he actually likes me."

Kagome gave her a look. "I will conveniently ignore you even uttered such a stupid sentence."

"Stupid? It's the truth."

"Sango. He likes you."

"He likes any female that breathes."

"Don't forget those that don't."

Sango choked on her drink.

"Kidding! Necrophiliacs aren't your style, anyway."

"That was _not_ funny."

"Yeah, but now Miroku doesn't look so bad, does he?" said Kagome cheerfully.

"I never said I _didn't_ like him."

"Ah, we're making progress.

Sango glowered. "Shaddup."

"I really do think he likes you," she said seriously. "You should give him a chance."

"What, are we back in high school now? And I believe you're forgetting he _has_ a girlfriend. Sort of."

"He's a player, but that can be fixed."

"Listen to yourself. That was a complete lie. Players don't mend their ways."

"Not often. But the ones that really, truly fall in love end up being the most loyal."

"Is it even possible for Miroku to fall in love?" Sango traced the rim of her cup with a finger. "I mean… um… yeah. So this soda has way too much caffeine. I'm going to be up all night."

"Good. You won't be able to sleep and you ask a certain someone to keep you company."

"Kagome!" Sango screeched.

Her friend grinned. "You've been in your I-hate-men shell for too long. It's time for you to come out.

"Whatever." Sango finished the last of her lunch and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I need to get to the library. Catch you later."

"Think about what I said," Kagome called after her.

_I'll try not to._

Somehow she didn't think that would be happening.

-

-

The next day Sango showed up early to orchestra rehearsal. She firmly told herself it was because she needed extra practice. Which was true—her mind had been wandering far too much lately and she found herself making stupid mistakes over and over again.

She found a practice room and installed herself into a practice room, trying to ignore the fact that her eyes kept straying to the door every five minutes, wishing it would open.

It didn't.

After half an hour she decided to give up the charade and emerge. She still had a good thirty minutes before class began, but she could just play some random songs. Whatever came to mind—like Miroku told her to do.

She didn't even bother to tell herself to stop thinking about him anymore. She'd become so broken-record-like that it was less painful to actually let herself think about him. Lugging her cello and bow in one hand and her case in the other, she shoved her way through the practice room door and stumbled out into the well-lit hallway. The one thing she'd always loved about the music department was the multitude of windows in the hallways—and consequently the light that reflected off the tiled floor.

She walked into the orchestra room to find a group of students already there, sitting in a group chatting.

Her heart jumped into her throat as she noticed Miroku was part of that group—the only male in the group in fact. A wave of annoyance swept over her. _And there I was sitting in that practice room, thinking he'd want to talk to me._ She made her way over to a section of chairs that were far away from where the other group of students were talking and laughing. Despite the fact that she'd just been practicing for the past half-hour, she once again pulled out her cello and began to run through a tricky passage in one of the songs.

Her eyes kept straying to Miroku, who was completely at ease, talking and laughing and flirting with the other girls. When Sango reached the end of the song, she realized she hadn't even been aware of what she'd been playing. _Holy…_ This really wasn't good.

Her gaze once again wandered over to the group in the corner—and was momentarily confused when she didn't see Miroku there. _Now where did he run off to?_

The sound of piano music suddenly filled the room, and Sango strained her eyes to see who was sitting behind the piano. Surely it wasn't…

Of course, he _would_ be able to play the piano—and well.

God, life really wasn't fair. Sure, he couldn't know that it was her lifelong wish to learn to play piano… but did he have to excel at everything that was important to her?

The group of girls was now smiling and giggling, watching Miroku play the piano. Two girls wandered over to the piano as well, taking seats close to him. Sango squashed down the urge to join them, despite her curiosity.

_What the hell._ Pushing all the annoying thoughts running around in her brain, she set down Kirara and walked over to the piano, feeling as if the open expanse between her seat and Miroku had suddenly gotten larger. Instead of taking a seat around the piano like the other girls had done, she leaned against the back of the piano, resting her arms on the top.

"Hi there," Miroku said, smiling up at her.

"Hey," she said, unable to ignore how good he looked just then. He must have just come from a gig—he was decked out in all black. The black collared dress shirt did nothing to hide the muscles underneath; his hair was down again today, the small gold hoops in each year peeking out beneath the dark, somewhat messy, hair.

_Stop._ "I didn't know you could play piano," she said inanely.

"Mmhm." His fingers never stopped, even as he was looking up at her. "Where were you?"

"Huh?"

"I saw Kagome on my way here; she said your class had gotten out nearly an hour ago."

"Oh—uh, I was in a practice room."

"Naturally. I should've thought of that in the first place." He smirked slightly.

"Did you have a gig this morning or something?" she asked, gesturing to his black clothes.

"Yup. Preschool graduation—with caps and gowns to boot. Wish I could've recruited a few of those kids for the modeling agency I'm with."

She refrained from rolling her eyes. "Really. What'd you play, _Pomp and Circumstance_?"

"So many times I considered chucking my Elgar CD out of the car window on my way here."

She laughed, and Miroku abruptly switched songs, going into a much faster piece, his fingers flying over the keys. She watched his hands for a while, mesmerized. It was almost like magic—as if his hands were moving on their own, without any help from the brain.

"What are you playing?" one of the girls asked, rising from her chair and adopting the same stance as Sango. Her auburn hair was up in a messy bun; a few strands had fallen down and were now framing her slender face. Sango self-consciously tucked her own hair behind her ear. She hadn't had time to do anything other than brush it this morning.

Miroku shrugged. "Don't remember."

"You're just doing that by memory?" the girl exclaimed. Sango finally recognized her as one of the violinists from the chamber orchestra.

"Pretty much," he said, winking.

"That's amazing," she said, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "I've been taking lessons for years and I can't do that."

He shrugged. "We've all got our strengths. Mine is memorization."

"Or maybe you're just a prodigy," she joked.

"Maybe so," he returned, grinning.

Sango shifted positions, feeling somewhat left out. She didn't want to leave, though, so she just stood there listening to the music. Fortunately, the violinist fell silent as well after a while, and the only sound was the melody Miroku was playing.

"I wish I could do that," Sango couldn't stop herself from saying when he finished.

"What, play the piano?"

"Yeah."

"You can't?" he said in surprise.

"No." She wasn't quite able to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

He stood walked around the piano in order to drag her over to the piano bench. "That is a crime against humanity. We're going to remedy that right now."

"Huh?"

"Sit," he said, leaving his arm around her waist as he sat down beside her.

She shifted uncomfortably. "What are you doing?"

"Teaching you to play piano." He removed his arm and placed his fingers on the keys. "Now, copy my hand position."

"Right now?"

"Preferably sometime today."

"No, I mean, you're going to teach me piano right now?"

"Well, starting at least," he said, grinning.

The violinist was smiling as well. "Come on, if anyone can teach you, Miroku can."

"So? What do you say?" asked Miroku.

"Uh… sure…?"

"Good," Miroku said, satisfied. "So, put your hands on the keyboard like this. Thumbs go right here—on middle C. Center space on the staff…right. And the notes just go up the staff, all the way up to the next C, which looks exactly the same, not matter what octave you're in."

"Okay…"

"Now, see, if you push down _C_ and _E_ and _G_—"

"You get a C major chord," Sango finished.

"Exactly. A 'I' chord, with fingers 1-3-and-5 pushed down, as opposed to a 'V' chord with…"

Miroku spent the next fifteen minutes or so going over the basics with Sango, who didn't even notice that the room was full and ready to begin class until Miroku suddenly said, "Your professor's here—you should probably get back to your seat now."

She jerked her head up. "_Crap_. Uh—thanks for the lesson, see you later," was all she said before sprinting off to her seat.

Sango had to climb over half the cello section to reach her cello, and then climb back over them to her seat at the end of the row. By the time she'd situated herself, it dawned on her that the music professor was standing in the back of the room, looking quite relaxed, and in his usual place at the podium stood none other than Miroku.

"Well hey you guys," he said, giving the room a friendly smile. "I'm not sure if Professor Mushin's mentioned me yet—knowing him, it probably slipped his mind that I was even coming at all…"

Chuckles spread throughout the room, and Miroku continued, "But I'm going to be over here every other day, interning. Sometimes, like today, I'll be your guest conductor, other days I'll sit in with you all, and occasionally I'll even hide in the back of the room observing. But before we get started, I suppose I should tell you a little bit about myself. I am a senior at Columbia—" He grinned unapologetically at the playful boos and hisses—"but I'm thinking of applying to graduate school here at NYU, so don't send your hitman after me just yet. I'm twenty-four years old, a cellist, a part-time model, and a part-time ladies man—or so I've been told."

Sango rolled her eyes.

"As of now, I only know about five of you in this room—" His eyes briefly met Sango's, and then moved to other girls' in the orchestra—"so don't hesitate to come talk to me. I can keep up a pretty good conversation, even though I have a tendency to go on tangents."

"What's your favorite flavor doughnut?" someone called out.

"Chocolate with sprinkles," he answered, not missing a beat. "Though glazed is a close second. But not Krispy Kreme, those make me sick. Dunkin Donuts are usually good, although if you get those too early in the morning, they tend to make you lightheaded the rest of the day…"

Most of the class was laughing by then, at his facial expressions if not at his digression. Sango sighed. _Ladies' man indeed._

"With that said, however," he continued, "why don't we get started. You're working on Stravinsky's first, correct?"

"Yes," the orchestra chorused.

"Then without further ado…" He twirled the conductor's baton between his fingers and then raised his arms.

-

-

An exhausting two-and-a-half hours later, the class finally dismissed and the orchestra students began to file out of the room. Sango slumped back into her chair and fiddled with the bow in her hand. She couldn't remember ever having worked so hard, even with Professor Mushin. Miroku certainly did know how to challenge people—and she was even more stunned by his wealth of musical knowledge.

It was weird—knowing a person, and then a few hours later, feeling as if you didn't know them at all. Or even feeling inferior to them somehow. Sango packed up her cello and started to walk from the room, seeing that Miroku was engaged in conversation with a group of other students.

"Hey—"

Sango turned at the call that came from behind her. Miroku strode up to her, "Not going to say goodbye?"

"I— you were busy and… uh… sorry." She felt her cheeks reddening and scrambled for something to say. "That was a good class. You're a great teacher."

He looked momentarily surprised, but then smiled. "Thanks," he said sincerely. "That means a lot, coming from you."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Coming from me?"

"From such a talented musician as yourself," he clarified.

She tried to squelch the feeling of disappointment. "Oh. Thanks."

"Do you have any plans for dinner?" he asked.

"Um… I don't think so…" If her heart kept skipping like this, she wouldn't live to see graduation.

"Let's go for pizza, then, I've been having this craving all day."

"You sound like a woman."

He laughed. "That's something I don't hear very often."

"I have a flair for the unique."

"So I see. Hang around for a few minutes, and we'll go together."

"All right."

She lingered by the door as he finished talking to a few students and the professor. He artfully dismissed himself with a smile and walked towards her, letting his hand rest on her lower back as he propelled her forward. "Let's go, I'm starved."

"Teaching makes you hungry, hm?"

"You bet. Of course," he shot her a grin, "I'll take any excuse to eat."

"So I gathered."

Silence fell and Sango frantically searched for a topic to talk of. She was on the verge of uttering the damnable "Nice weather" cliché (in spite of the icy nearly-December temperature) when Miroku turned to her and said:

"So. Hands or butt?"

Sango choked, despite the fact that there was nothing for her to choke on except saliva or air. "What the hell?"

Miroku laughed at her expression. He had a nice laugh, one of those that made you want to join in on the merriment, although you had no earthly idea what you were laughing about. "Most girls I've talked to are either hand girls or butt girls—they either have a strange fascination with guy's hands, or an unhealthy obsession with male asses. I thought I'd go ahead and find out which one you are without struggling in vain to figure it out for myself."

Now Sango really laughed, harder than she had in a long time. "You're a crazy mofo, you know that?"

He smiled complacently.

She gave in. "Being a musician—especially a string player—I can't help but be attracted to hands. But, before I actually started getting serious with music, I was more admiring of butts. So what does that make me?"

"Selfish. You want a little bit of everything. For shame."

"Well…" Sango stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to face him. "I think I may have found a remedy."

He stopped as well and cocked an eyebrow in anticipation. "Oh?"

She spun him around, reached around him and pulled both his arms back, placing his hands on his buttocks.

"There," she said, giggling. "Nice hands on a nice ass. It's perfect."

Miroku snorted and quickly removed his appendages from his rear. "I have a better idea." He turned back around, pulled her toward him, and then cupped her butt cheeks with his hands. "There," he mimicked her. "Nice hands on an even nicer ass."

Sango squeaked and pulled out of his grasp, trying to look stern. "Pervert," she half-heartedly chastised him.

He shrugged, still smiling. "You asked for it."

They resumed walking.

"So," he said. "How bout this weather?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and they both burst into laughter.

-

The conversation didn't lag once after that, even though he insisted on taking them on a half-hour trek to an "über-special place", and by the time they hurled themselves into the comfortable joint away from the bitter wind, Sango was almost positive she'd fallen for this guy.

-

-

"This place is nice," she said.

He gave her a look and smirked knowingly.

"I'm not saying that just to make conversation!" she protested. "Or get into your good graces or whatever—I really do like this place."

"I know," he said. When her defensive look didn't fade, he added, "That you really do like it. And that you're not that kind of girl."

"Good." She dragged her fork through the remaining bit of spaghetti sauce across her plate, drawing random designs as Miroku finished his meal. Her eyes wandered around the inside of the café and landed on and old dingy piano in the far left corner of the joint, near the restrooms.

Miroku noticed her gaze and smiled. "Come on," he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his. "Let's go."

"Huh?"

He tugged her out of her chair and led her over to the piano. "It's lesson time."

"What? Now? Here?"

"Why not?"

"There are people around!"

He seemed to find this highly amusing. "Sango, you're studying to be a professional musician. If you have issues with stage fright, I think you're in the wrong profession."

"I only have stage fright when I'm not confident," she said.

"Don't worry, no one's even paying attention to us. And it's too loud for them to be able to distinguish it to be anything beyond extra noise."

"But—"

He sat her down on the piano bench and then swung his legs around her so he was sitting directly behind her. "Now," he said, "put your hands on the keyboard."

She gave him a look. "Where on the keyboard?"

"Anywhere. It doesn't matter."

Sango placed her hands in position to play a C major scale.

"Good." He placed his hands on top of hers; she shivered slightly at his touch.

"What are you doing?"

"Playing you a song." He paused for a second. "Wait. No, you'd better put your hands on top of mine. Switch."

She did so, and felt him smile. "Much better," he said.

Then he began to play her a song, a haunting minor melody, not something she recognized, but something vaguely familiar. Her hands and fingers moved with his, so that it was almost as if she was playing, and him merely guiding her…

She turned her head to glance back at him and found his face dangerously close to hers. She sucked in a breath. _God he's hot… _

He dipped his head and Sango nearly stopped breathing altogether, anticipating—

The kiss that never occurred.

"Miroku?" a voice behind them asked.

The look of pure frustration on Miroku's face was a small consolation in Sango's sudden plunge in humor. She felt like a kid who'd been promised cake after dinner, only instead to be sent upstairs early.

"Yes?" he said.

"You've a phone call," the proprietress of the establishment said, handing him the telephone.

"What?" He took the phone. "Hello? Oh—uh—hi…" he said guiltily. "Um, no. No, not busy at all, honey, what's up?"

Sango took her hands off the piano.

"Right now? But… okay. Fine. I'll be there in a few." He handed the phone back to the owner of the restaurant, thanked her, and turned to Sango. "I'm sorry to cut this short—but I need to be somewhere."

"It's fine."

He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her fingers. "Sango, I really don't want to leave… but I have no choice."

"I said, it's fine. I understand." _And your actions speak louder than your words._

"You sure?"

"Positive." She smiled and smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Get out of here."

He squeezed her hand: "I'll call you tonight."

"Mmhm." _Sure you will._

Miroku left, not glancing back once.

Sango sat at the piano for a while longer, just looking at the keys, and then trying to create a decent-sounding tune, but failed miserably.

-

-

"You do know that you just dragged me away from the most enjoyable date I've had all year," said Miroku sourly, closing the apartment door behind him with more force than necessary.

"Yeah, I figured as much. Sorry. Here, take a look at this for me." She tossed a folder of papers over to him.

"Don't beat yourself up about it now," he said sarcastically, opening the folder. "It wasn't as if she was my potential future wife or anyth— holy shit."

She just smiled grimly.

Miroku looked up, his face suddenly pale. "Is this accurate?"

"See why I dragged you over here now?"

"Jesus." He rubbed a hand over his face and then found a spare cardboard box to sit on. "We're going to be here a while."

"That's an understatement." She unceremoniously dropped onto the floor and leaned over his shoulder, studying the papers as well. "Where to start?"

He glanced at the clock, thinking of Sango. _Damn…_

-

-

Sango checked the time on the TV—almost midnight. And Miroku still hadn't called.

Not that she'd expected him to. Still…

She turned off the TV with a decisive flick of the clicker. _Go figure._ Stretching out on the couch, she stared up at the ceiling, playing with the idea of stopping by his apartment. Just to surprise him.

_Yeah, what if he has a girl there? That'd be awkward._

But the more she thought about it, the more she felt that urge to get up and see him. Just to have closure—just to figure out if he was worth all these feelings that were swirling around inside of her.

It took another quarter of an hour to get off the bed and throw on a coat and boots. She accepted that her idea was crazy and stupid—but she also accepted that if she didn't do this, she wouldn't be able to sleep at all tonight.

Stepping out into the freezing cold night energized her. The sky—or what she could see of it—was actually clear: not a hint of snow anywhere, and the last traces of the snowfall from the week before had long since vanished. She walked briskly, enjoying the unexpected exercise.

It wasn't until she was about five minutes from Miroku's apartment that she truly began to realize the utter stupidity of her plan. A young woman walking _alone_ at _midnight_ in _New York City_ when the person she was going to visit didn't even know she was _coming_…

She sped up her pace until she was nearly running, actually breaking out into a full-blown sprint at one point, after being spooked by a weird man who stared at her as she passed. _This was a really, really bad idea—_

It was a miracle that she reached his apartment unscathed. Still somewhat frightened, she pounded up the staircase, not even bothering to try the elevator, and ran down the dark hallway, searching for his apartment number.

_There it is._ She skidded to a stop in front of the door and banged her fist on it, wanting nothing more than to be inside, away from the dark and—and whatever the dark hid.

The door cracked open. "Do you fucking know what fucking time it f— oh. Sango." Inuyasha squinted at her. "Sango? What are you doing here so late?"

"Uh…" She'd momentarily forgotten that Miroku had a roommate—and that his roommate happened to be Inuyasha.

_Add that to the list of reasons why this was a really really stupid idea._ How could she have forgotten Inuyasha? That wasn't exactly an easy thing to do.

He was watching her, waiting for an answer. His long hair was tousled, and he looked half asleep.

"I came to see Miroku," she said finally, opting to tell the truth.

His eyebrows shot up.

"On urgent… uh… music business," she hastily amended.

"Really." His face lost none of its skepticism. "Okay, if you say so. He actually just got back, go talk about your… music business all you want, but I'm going to bed, so try not to be too loud."

Before she could interpret that statement in any way, he pulled her inside and shut the door behind her. With a loud yawn, he bolted it shut and disappeared into a room off to the side.

Sango stood uncomfortably in the kitchen/living room area of the apartment, wondering if she'd actually have to go search for Miroku.

The door on the other side of the apartment opened, and Miroku emerged. "Inuyasha, who's at the—" He stopped dead in his tracks. "Sango?"

"Yeah," she said, feeling more foolish by the second.

"Well, hey," he said, smiling. "I'm glad you stopped by. I was just about to call you, but I think I like this much better."

"Were you," she said, realizing too late that her response didn't line up.

He understood anyway. "I know it's late, and I'm sorry. My sister called—apparently our godfather has hit his way-past-midlife-crisis and tried to use nearly all our assets to buy himself an antique Harley-Davidson motorcycle collection…"

Sango blinked.

"But although he's not the brightest crayon in the box, he loves us to death and will do pretty much anything we ask, so we got it all straightened out. Now," he said, striding towards her and taking her hands in his, "would you like something to eat or drink? A jacket? Blanket? Sleep?"

"All of the above?"

He chuckled. "Sure, why not?" Steering her towards the couch, he pushed her down and ran into the room from which he'd emerged, reappearing moments later with a blanket, coffee mug, and a bagel.

"I was only kidding," she halfheartedly protested, even as she accepted the mug and blanket.

Miroku kept the bagel for himself, munching contentedly as he sat down beside her. The only light on in the room was the light above the stove and the dirty light shining through the window—both cast odd shadows on him and—she didn't even know how this was possible—made him look more appealing than ever.

"Um…" She started to give an explanation to why she was there, but thought better of it and took a sip of the coffee instead. "This is good."

"My sister made it. She's a caffeine addict."

"Oh."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "So, you going to let me in on why you're here?"

Damn. "Um."

"Missed me that much, did you?" he joked.

Annoyed, she took another sip of the coffee.

His hand closed on her arm. "Sango. I was kidding." He pried the mug away from her fingers and gently turned her face towards his with two fingers. "I'm—"

She looked away. "I don't know why I came."

He shrugged, still smiling. "I'm glad you did."

Sango didn't know what possessed her—maybe an inner demon of some sort—but at that moment she nearly lunged towards Miroku, kissing him with a passion she was surprised to discover she had.

Miroku pulled back, laughing. "Sango…" He rested his forehead against hers and laughed harder, making her giggle as well, although she didn't know what she was laughing at. "You kiss just like you play."

"What!"

"You jump right in, without thought, but play by ear so convincingly and aggressively that the result is beautiful." He burst into a fresh round of laughter.

"I couldn't tell if that was a compliment or insult," she said.

"It was good, believe me. But here—why don't we try _my_ way?" He kissed her softly, sweetly at first, then slowly becoming more passionate.

Sango licked her lips as they pulled away again.

"So which way to you like better?" he teased, playing with a strand of her hair.

She grinned. "My way." Pushing him back onto the couch, she began to make good of her statement.

"You really _do_ like it on top," he mumbled.

-

-

Sango awoke the next morning happier than she'd ever felt in a long time… although she couldn't quite figure out why.

Then she turned over on her side and realized why.

_Oh god…_

"What the hell did I do?" she blurted out.

Next to her, Miroku stirred and opened his eyes—his gorgeous purplish-bluish eyes. "Morning, sunshine," he said, stroking her cheek.

She didn't even remember making it to the bed last night.

He snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. "This feels so right," he mumbled.

It was a line if she'd ever heard one. But the way he said it didn't make it seem that way.

And the scary part was that she was thinking the same thing.

A wave of doubt and anxiety washed over her and she turned her head, panicked, to face him—

And then saw his smile, which she somehow understood was meant just for her.

Unable to stop herself, she smiled back, tremulously at first, then burst into laughter for no reason at all, snuggling back up against him and feeling safer than she had in a long time.

* * *

A/N: I'm alive! (And currently freezing cold. Just in case you wanted to know that) Hope you all had a great holiday season—hope you all liked this chapter. This is NOT the last chapter, still got one or two to go… just hang tight, they'll be coming soon, I promise (; 


	8. Movement VIII: Pavane

**-x-**

**Movement VIII: _Pavane_**

**- **

**-**

"Would you like some coffee, sweetheart, darling, light of my life?"

"Mmm, yes please." Sango accepted the kiss and the coffee gratefully. "I'm going to fall asleep into my cereal."

"We wouldn't want that to happen now, would we shnookums?" He pinched her cheek.

Miroku rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Inuyasha, that is _not_ how I act."

His roommate stopped pretending to be the cellist and grinned evilly. "Close enough."

Sango was giggling.

"So when are you two getting married?" asked Inuyasha, jumping up to sit on the table.

"Tomorrow in Vegas," said Miroku snippily, cleaning up the breakfast dishes and dumping them in the sink.

"Really?"

"No, dumbass, it's called sarcasm."

"The way you two act around each other, you'd think you were _already_ married. Seriously, it'd be the least you could do for my benefit—you don't know how embarrassing it is to wake up in the morning and walk into the kitchen in only your boxers as usual and find your best friend's girlfriend sitting at the table eating."

"At least it's not summertime, hm?"

"Shut up," Inuyasha snapped.

"What's wrong with summertime?" asked Sango.

"Noth—"

"That's when Inuyasha doesn't even bother with boxers in the morning," said Miroku.

"Yeah, well, if you two would just get married and move over to Sango's apartment, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

"You realize that would mean Kagome would have to move over here," Sango pointed out.

Inuyasha grinned. "Exactly."

"I'm telling her you said that," she said.

"Go right ahead, she needs to get mad—all she's been doing lately is studying. I think those textbooks have sapped out all her emotion. Now she's like a… devoid robot or something."

"I'm telling her you said _that_," Miroku said from the sink.

"Or you could go over to Sango's once in a while," said Inuyasha, turning to his friend. "Why do you always make her trek over here?"

"She likes coming here—don't you, baby?"

"That's right," she said, stretching lazily. "And I'd hate to interrupt Kagome's studying."

Inuyasha scowled, sending both her and Miroku into gales of laughter.

-

-

"Happy two month anniversary," Miroku said to her later, slipping his arms around her waist.

Sango turned from her place at the window. "You're crazy," she said laughing.

"Crazy for—"

"Don't even finish that sentence." She leaned contentedly against him, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

"It's true, though," he said, making small circles on her back with the tips of his fingers.

"Mmm."

His hand crept up her shirt, his fingers now playing on the bare skin of her back.

She stretched contentedly. "So how are we celebrating?"

"I dunno… we could play by ear," he said suggestively.

Sango laughed and slipped her arms around his neck when his hands dropped from her back to reach down and rest comfortably on her butt cheeks. "That's your idea of a celebration?"

"What better way to?" he asked, nibbling at her ear.

The irony did not go by unnoticed to her. She snickered, but didn't protest.

-

-

"I got a letter from that audition I did last week," Sango said suddenly. "For that one-month gig at the Rockefeller Center for that technology conference—the chamber quartet."

Miroku turned to look at her, his face passive. It was past midnight and they were lying in bed, as routine usually went. Sex was usually followed by a few hours of just talking—about politics, school, crazy ideas and theories, daily life and such until they fell asleep.

Miroku always referred to sex as "lovemaking." Sango was hesitant to call it as such until she was absolutely sure what they had _was_ love. She'd fallen into that trap before.

"Yeah?" he said, tracing the features of her face with his finger.

She'd been wanting to tell him all day, but hadn't wanted to spoil their good mood. But now she felt that if she didn't get this off her chest, she would explode. "I was rejected. They only needed one cello player, so… it was you get it or you don't."

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling her close to him. "But don't let it bother you. Even Yo-Yo Ma was rejected—he probably still is. And you know," he said, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, "sometimes you're rejected because you're _too_ good and the ensemble would be unbalanced."

Sango snorted. "I doubt that's the case." But she felt better anyway, despite herself. Smiling, she kissed him gently. "Thank you."

He only held her tighter. "Music is a harsh world, Sango," he said. "The trick is to not let it get you down. If rejection gets under your skin and crumbles your self-confidence, you're sunk."

"Yeah."

"Just remember that you're good—very good. Just play from your heart and enjoy your music. No one can take that away from you."

"Yeah," she said again. She flipped over so that their bodies were spooned together, his arms encircling her waist. She could feel him breathing, and found the easy rise and fall of his chest comforting. It was like they were two parts of a sculpture—she perfectly within the lines of his muscular chest, and with their legs and hands respectively entwined, it was almost as if, for a moment, they were one person, one entity, two cogs of a clock fitted together so that time could tick on.

-

-

"Baby, Professor Myoga wants me to teach his chamber ensemble class in an hour, so I've got to run."

"All right," said Sango, kissing him goodbye. "Be good—try not to be too sarcastic."

He grinned down at her as he fixed his earring. "Yes, ma'am." He leaned in for another kiss and then ran for the door. "Remember, meet me at seven!"

"Okay!"

The door shut, and Sango returned to her book, snuggling into the soft cushions of his couch. They were going to have dinner tonight at the café where they'd first had hot chocolate together. It was his idea, a two-month-and-two-week anniversary and nearly-Christmas celebration. Which reminded her, she needed to buy him a present. They were only in the first week of December, but there was never enough time to try and find the perfect present for a picky boyfriend.

The telephone rang and she startled violently, having been deeply lost in her thoughts. She reached for the cordless phone that _should_ have been on the windowsill right next to the chair… but naturally it wasn't.

She sighed in frustration and rushed around the apartment in a frantic search for the phone. Miroku _never_ remembered to put the phone back where it belonged—and he claimed it was her fault, since he liked to wander around while talking to her.

_Stupid man._ _And where in the name of sanity did he leave the stupid phone?_ She finally found it by the sink, hidden behind a tall stack of dirty dishes. She let out a whoop of triumph and answered the call… only to hear a dial tone on the other line. The impatient caller had decided no one was home.

Sango angrily replaced the phone in its rightful spot, seriously contemplating duct-taping it to the windowsill, just to make a point.

She was on the verge of going off to search for duct tape when the doorbell rang. "Ugh, why is it that I just can't seem to get the upper hand on this day?" she muttered, rapidly turning the locks on the door.

"Surprise!" Kagome said, grinning, once Sango finally managed to wrench the door open from its sticky doorjamb.

"Surprise!" echoed the second person, smiling just as merrily.

Sango blinked. "Jakotsu? Uh…wow, hi. Haven't seen you in a while." _Since Kagome beat you up in that bar after you tried to hit on Inuyasha, to be specific._ She turned a questioning glance toward Kagome.

Kagome nodded reassuringly. "Can we come inside?"

"Sure. The boys aren't home." Sango stepped aside.

Jakotsu whistled appreciatively. "Nice place your boyfriend's got, Sango."

"Yeah, it suits him. A little too messy for my taste, but…" She shrugged, hating that she was making small talk, but saw no other option. "So how are you doing?"

"Not bad!" chirped Jakotsu. "Making a fair profit off freelancing. Model shoots are very highly paid, for telling a bunch of toothpicks to smile and pad their bras a little more." He patted the expensive Nikon hanging around his neck.

"Um. Nice…" She waited for some sort of explanation as to why they were there, but Kagome was just smiling amusedly as Jakotsu chattered on about his last freelance job photographing a pair of newlyweds who hated each other so thoroughly that Jakotsu had to keep applying makeup to the girl's arm to cover up the bruises after a "cuddling shot."

After about ten more minutes of this, Sango finally cut it, "Okay. Why exactly are you two here?"

Kagome rolled her eyes, but Jakotsu burst into giggles. "Direct as usual," he said.

"Tactless would be a better description," said Kagome. "We're here to help you get a Christmas present for Miroku," she added to Sango.

"Huh?"

Jakotsu held up his camera enthusiastically. "We're going to take some beautiful shots of you—black and white film, I'm thinking, unless the color just really works out—and then get them professionally framed so Miroku can still stare at you even when you're not here."

"Uh…no offense, because that's a really cool idea and I really appreciate you guys wanting to help me out, but isn't that a little… self-absorbed?"

Both he and Kagome laughed. "Get over it," Kagome ordered. "He'll love it. Trust me on this. I asked Jakotsu especially because of his—uh—"

"Creativity?" he suggested.

"Expertise," she finished.

"Well—" Sango said, trying to figure out a way to politely say no.

"Nope. Step aside and let the master go to work," said Jakotsu, pushing her into Miroku's favorite easy chair. "All we have to do is drape you over the chairs and sofas in sexually appealing positions—"

"_Jakotsu_," said Sango.

"Fine, we'll pose you in a more innocent kitten kind of way, but still arousing enough to—"

Sango snatched his camera out of his hands and dangled it precariously from the tips of her fingers. Jakotsu squeaked and jumped for it.

"Are you going to listen to me?"

"Listening," he panted, still jumping. "Give me back my baby please. This is worth more than your life."

"Seriously? You'd save this thing before you'd save me?"

Jakotsu hesitated.

"Never mind. I see where I stand in your heart."

"Just give it back, please!" he begged.

"No suggestive tone or innuendos," she said.

"How else am I going to get you to express yourself?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something. Promise?"

"You're ruining my art," he sighed.

"_Promise_?" She shook the camera just enough so the lens cap wiggled off and clattered to the floor.

"Promise!" he shrieked.

She handed it back to him.

Cradling the camera like a first-born, Jakotsu said, "Fine. Have it your way. No _suggestive tones_ or _innuendos_, but don't blame me if the best you can come up with for your boyfriend's first Christmas gift is a mug shot that could be photoshopped in perfectly with a bunch of inmates."

"I think I can manage to make myself look presentable," she sniffed, although he did have a point. She had no idea what she was going to give Miroku for Christmas otherwise. The first celebration as a couple deserved a special gift—but other than paying for TiVo for him and Inuyasha or buying him a large plasma TV, she really couldn't think of anything else that would elicit more than a "aw, honey, how sweet."

"Your loss," Jakotsu mumbled, checking to make sure she hadn't maimed his camera in anyway.

Kagome was giggling. "I think I'll go make some lunch while you two get started."

Sango glared at her.

"No glaring!" Jakotsu barked. "It causes wrinkles around your eyes and the forehead, which will screw up your makeup and throw off the lighting."

"Uh… sorry."

"You're still frowning!"

"I profusely apologize," said Sango through an extra-wide smile.

"Much better. You can yell at me all you want, but as long as you do it with a happy face."

"This must be a kind of hell. No wonder models are so moody all the time, they have to work with jerk-offs like you."

"At least us jerk-offs are making more money in an hour than you musicians do in a day," said Jakotsu sweetly. "Sometimes a week, perhaps?"

"Ouch." Kagome's voice floated from the kitchen.

"Ouch is right," said Sango, glaring at him again.

"_No frowning_!"

-

-

"Just one more pose and then we're done," cajoled Jakotsu.

"That's what you said _five poses ago_," Sango said through clenched teeth, as she tried to arrange her face in a "wistful look" while staring out the window.

"Perfect. Looks like you're longing madly for him."

"He's going to gag when he sees these photos."

"More like he'll think more seriously about a large diamond engagement ring." Jakotsu wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Please. Miroku? I thought you knew him better than that. He broke out champagne on our three-week anniversary."

"Well, don't stop there, honey," Jakotsu said, still flashing away.

"Jakotsu, I haven't moved. Don't you think you've taken enough pictures of this one pose?"

"The sun just went behind the clouds. And you moved your head a fraction of an inch to the right. I think I like that a bit better than the original pose."

"You're so anal. How does your partner stand you?"

"He's such a slob; he would forget to put his pants on in the morning if it wasn't for me."

"Oh. Well I guess that works."

"Yep. Sort of like how your temper kind of fades when you're around Miroku, or how he only follows a nice ass with his eyes now, rather than with his whole head."

"Jesus, you're such a—wait, how would you know that?" She turned to look accusingly at him.

"You two are so wrapped up in each other, you wouldn't notice if your reincarnation from a past life traveled through time and walked right past you. I'm usually at the bar you guys go to; though I suppose since I'm usually in a large group playing drinking games and you two are…uh… getting freaky over the piano bench."

"He's teaching me to play piano!"

"Okay, honey," he said soothingly.

"And stop it with the affectionate names!"

"Mmkay. Now lay on the floor—"

"Jaktosu!"

"—and spread your hair out a bit and look towards the camera."

"Are you serious? This floor is disgusting; I don't it's been vacuumed in months." She grudgingly laid down on the ground, touching the carpet tentatively, as if she would immediately contract some rare deadly disease that would kill you on contact.

"Perfect. Just move your right arm a little more behind your head—"

"Like this?" she ground out.

"Yes. Good. Perfect. Don't move…"

"Am I done yet?"

"Just a few more," he mumbled, clicking away.

Sango sighed. The room looked a _lot_ messier from the floor; it really was gross, she should make Miroku and Inuyasha clean the place more often. Though she'd probably just end up cleaning herself. And what was that under the TV? There were definitely _letters_ shoved under the TV.

"What a pig," she said to herself.

"Hmm?" said Jakotsu absently.

"Nothing." She stretched her arm a little bit and pulled the letters from under the TV.

"Sango, you're moving!"

"Sorry! One sec, I just want to see…"

They were all addressed to Miroku. Typical. Only a male would clean by shoving letters under furniture. She shifted through them, sure that it was all junk that she could throw away—

Until the return address of the creamy white envelope caught her eye.

She stared at it and sat up straight.

"Sango!" Jakotsu protested.

"_Not now_."

Jakotsu drew back. "What's wrong?"

Sango's jaw tensed as she opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.

-

-

Miroku walked cheerily up the stairs to his apartment; the chamber rehearsal had gone well today, the students were in a good mood because it was Friday, and they'd gotten a lot done. And the usual troublemaker wasn't there, so he didn't have to stop every five minutes to tell the kid off for looking down girls shirts or using his bow to scratch the back of his neck.

He started to sing softly as he reached his floor, but stopped when he saw two other people approaching. They didn't look like they were paying any attention to him—the girl in sunglasses and the baseball cap had her head down, and the gay-looking guy with the camera was hissing under his breath to her.

Miroku did a double-take as he passed them. The gay guy looked familiar… He shrugged it off as he dug his key out of his pocket and opened the door.

"I'm home!" he called, heading for the kitchen.

"Hey." Sango's voice drifted from another room.

"We got anything to eat?"

"Dunno."

Miroku stopped in the threshold of the kitchen. "You okay?"

"Yep."

He frowned. Definitely not okay. He moved into the kitchen nevertheless to continue his hunt for food. With Sango, trying to find out if something was wrong was like trying to pry open a clam. She would open when she was good and ready; pushing her to talk would only make things worse.

This he had learned from experience. A long night in bed—alone—had taught him well.

He heated up some leftover pasta from the night before and ate it while reading the headlines in the newspaper, telling himself to just let Sango be for a bit, and that she would come to him when she was ready.

After an hour had passed (in which he gathered all the dirty socks and boxers in his room and threw them in a rather neat pile near the door, watched about fifteen minutes of SportsCenter, and made an ice-cream sundae) he tentatively ventured into his bedroom, the only possible place Sango could be—unless she was in Inuyasha's room, which was highly unlikely.

He slowly pushed open the door and peered inside. "Sango?"

She looked up from her drawing pad. "Yeah?"

_Shit._ She was doodling. While the stereo was blaring garage band punk music. Bad sign. Very bad sign.

"What's up?"

She glared at him from her spot on the floor.

He braved the inevitable onslaught and sat next to her. "That bad, huh?"

"You could say that." She didn't look up from her doodle of a duck diving into a pit of flames.

_That is more than slightly disturbing._ "Sango. What's the matter?"

She threw an opened envelope into his lap. "I found _this_—" how women managed to pack disgust, fury, and disappointment into that one unsuspecting adjective modifier, he would never understand—"underneath the TV today."

His stomach dropped. _Oh damn. I'm done for_. "Why—" he cleared his throat. "Why were you looking under the TV anyway?"

"Never mind. It doesn't really matter anymore."

He closed his eyes. _Lord give me strength._ "Sango—"

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" she interrupted. "You _knew_ how much that job opportunity meant to me, how much I wanted it! You couldn't even tell me that you auditioned for the same job? And that you _got it_?"

"How could I have told you?" he retorted. "You would have been angry for days."

"Oh, and being lied to is so much better," she spat. "I can't do this, Miroku. Have you ever been in a relationship with a professional cellist before? I haven't. Can you really stand us competing for jobs, getting rejected in favor of your significant other?"

"Uh… no I haven't. Had a relationship like that before."

"Right. It doesn't bother you because you're the one who will always win. Not only are you a genius, but you are male. And do not tell me that if it had been me who had won the job, your ego would have been bruised as well."

"I don't know. I really can't say."

"Don't deny it, you'd be angry."

"Well, fine. Since you're already putting words into my mouth, sure. I'd be angry. Isn't that natural?"

"Yeah? Well let me tell you that I don't want to spend the rest of my life angry at my boyfriend because he's always beating me out of jobs because his ex-girlfriend is the one who hired him."

He blinked. "What?"

She pointed to the signature at the bottom of the letter. _Shima Tsukamoto. _"Don't tell me you didn't notice that."

"Uh… well…" He rubbed his forehead. He'd been hoping to leave that part out. "She's the director of music for the city. Works directly under the governor. Believe me when I say that she could in no way be biased in her decision."

"Right." Sango's voice dripped with sarcasm.

Miroku's temper rose. "Because I obviously couldn't be good enough to land a job on my own."

"I didn't say that."

"It's what you implied."

"I just think it's a little suspicious, is all."

"Get over yourself—you're just upset you didn't get hired."

She slammed the sketchbook to the floor and scrambled to her feet.

"You need to learn to handle rejection, Sango," said Miroku, standing. "You can't let your whole life be a roller coaster of ups and downs because you didn't get one job. That's a musician's life—you've got to be flexible."

"I bared my soul to you with my disappointment in bed the other night," she said furiously. "And you didn't say a word. Not one word. Not, 'Sango, I need to tell you something. I got the job.' That was all you had so say."

"So you could react just like this? I knew this would happen; I was just putting it off as long as I could. When are you going to grow up?"

"When are you going to realize that this isn't going to work?" she cried. "I can't spend the rest of my life competing with you, trying to measure up to you while trying to earn my own living."

"We could make it work if you weren't so inflexible," he shot back. "Or ego-centric. That's what this is, isn't it? A blow on your ego. That you can't stand."

She opened her mouth furiously, but no words came out. She clamped her jaw shut again then stormed out of the room.

"Sango."

She was sprinting for the door.

"Sango, come on!" He dashed after her.

"I'm going out," she called over her shoulder. "Don't follow me."

The door slammed behind her.

"Fuck." Miroku punched the wall, leaving a good-sized dent. "Fucking—" He fell backwards onto the couch and turned the sports channel up to an obscene volume, wishing the commentator's grating voice would drown out all the emotions churning inside him.

-

-

Kagome rubbed her best friend's back as Sango cried into her green tea. "It's okay."

"It's _not_. He kept information from me. Lied to me. Got the job I wanted. God, this is so stupid."

Kagome was quiet for a minute. "It's hard. I was surprised you two got together in the first place. It's hard enough being friends with potential competition—it's even worse dating that person. Maybe you two should live in different cities."

"Not funny," Sango mumbled, burying her head in her hands. "I don't know why I thought this would work. Remember how mad I was at him before I even met him? About that audition?"

Kagome nodded.

"This is worse. Musicians are poor enough as it is; how can two starving artists live together while vying for the same money? That's like two starving wolves hunting together. Wouldn't one wolf kill the other after one point?"

"No, I think just one would be undernourished."

"Either that or they'd split apart."

"Or share the food," said Kagome.

Sango looked at her. "What would you do if Inuyasha played the oboe? Could you stand it if he was better than you?"

Kagome didn't answer.

"See? I can't deal with this. Maybe I should just end this relationship now."

"Sango, I think you're overreacting."

She was quiet. "I don't think so. I don't like it when people keep things from me."

"Would you have told him, had it been you?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I don't care." The tears were falling harder now.

Kagome pulled her into a hug. "Hey. Don't think about this right now. You just need a break—it's been a tough week. Why don't we watch some sappy love movie and have hot chocolate?"

"No hot chocolate."

"Right. Yeah. Sorry. Popcorn, how about that?"

"Sure. Whatever."

Kagome got up and went to rummage through the pantry for popcorn. Sango rubbed her temples, her tears falling unchecked into her green tea, as she tried to push Miroku's face out of her mind.

-

-

"Jesus, Miroku, what is your problem?" Inuyasha said, grabbing the scissors away from his roommate. "This table was a lot of money, especially for a yard sale. Don't carve curse words into it; you're not in high school anymore."

"Like you care, you're going to chuck this thing as soon as you and Kagome get married."

"There are two things wrong with that sentence, and the first is that I am never getting rid of this table; it is a part of me."

Miroku didn't answer, just continued to stare moodily out the window.

"Get a hold of yourself, man!" Inuyasha said sharply. "She's just a little upset now, give her some time to get over it."

"Look, when the woman you love refuses to talk to you for five days, then you can start giving me advice."

"Love's a strong word."

"I know." He ran a hand through his hair. "Which is probably why this hurts so much."

Inuyasha leaned back in his chair and gnawed his lip. "You ever tell her you loved her?"

"Um. I think so…"

"Good job."

"Shut up. I really don't need this right now."

"What you don't need is to be wasting your life away. Go play your cello or something. Or go to the court and play some basketball with the neighborhood kids. They'd love to have you."

"Right." He'd already gone back to staring out the window.

Inuyasha shook his head and went to get another bowl of cereal.

-

-

"Sango, this is ridiculous. You can't stay mad this long."

"Can too." She flipped the page of her magazine. "You like this outfit? It looks a bit eighties, but the skirt is cool."

"It's been two weeks and you haven't said a word to him. You're miserable, which puts me in a bad mood; he's miserable, which makes Inuyasha moody—thus, we're miserable, and everyone we're around becomes miserable—and the misery is spreading. Just go apologize to him!"

"I think _he_ should be the one apologizing to me."

"So at least go tell him that! Girl, I have not seen you this upset since… since I don't know when. If ever."

Sango slumped in her chair, losing her false front of apathy for the first time in two weeks. "I miss him."

Kagome softened. "Then go talk to him. I'm sure he's waiting for you too."

Sango shook her head. "No. I think this is for the best."

"How can you—"

"I _told_ you dating competition would be a bad idea."

"But—"

"Never mind. I'm going for a walk." Sango stood and walked out of the room.

Kagome massaged her head in frustration. _There's no getting through to her._

-

-

"The interpretation of this passage can be taken differently, depending on who's playing it," Miroku instructed the violin section a few days later. "As an old Polish folk song, it's usually played with a more accented rhythm, emphasizing the first and third beats—"

His eye was caught by Sango, who sat in her usual seat as the head of the cello section, directly to his right.. He'd been trying to ignore the fact that she was there, but his eyes kept straying in her direction. She, on the other hand, was staring obstinately at the ground.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to finish his explanation. "—which makes the song easier to keep a steady tempo, although it does deviate from the more traditional method of playing it…"

It had been three weeks since their falling out, and he had stopped trying to contact her a week ago when it became apparent that she wasn't going to forgive him anytime soon.

He wasn't used to feeling so depressed over a girl. It was usually _he_ that instigated the breaking up, thus, the heartache was much less. As soon as he stopped listening to the songs on the radio that reminded him of a certain girl, he was fine.

But this—this was something different altogether.

_I think about her all the damn time!_ And when he wasn't thinking about her, a commercial that they'd laughed about would suddenly come on TV, or he'd see a girl with magenta contacts, or he'd hear a certain song whose lyrics fit with his situation—

Who knew there were so many songs about angst and loneliness? Honestly. It was as if there was no happy couple that currently existed in the world.

Sango coughed, and his mind was jerked away from his teaching again.

_Don't think about her._ "Woodwinds, play out a little more at the trio, keep the notes more legato—floating and flowing like—" _Sango's hair_. "—a river."

_Lame._ _Even your analogies are becoming pathetic. Just like you._

He needed to get over her. Fast.

His internship ended at the end of the semester. If he could last that long.

Had he looked over in Sango's direction again, he would've noticed that her watery eyes were a little much for such a small fit of coughing.

-

-

Kagome jumped as her butt pocket started vibrating. _Inuyasha_, she thought in exasperation, tugging her cell phone out of her pocket. _Is it so hard to try and remember when I'm in class?_

She moved her thumb to silence the call, but in surprise found it to be a text message. Biting her lip, she did something she'd never done before: use her cell phone during rehearsal.

Balancing the phone on the edge of her music stand, she opened the message, finding it to be from Inuyasha.

_How r miroku and sango doin?_

Despite her compulsive urge to correct his internet speak (Inuyasha was one of those people that would do anything to save time and energy), she answered readily: _Not good. Blatantly ignoring each other._

Inuyasha answered right away. The phone's vibration was even louder on a metal music stand. Kagome squirmed and quickly opened the new message as her stand partner sniggered. Fortunately, Miroku was working with the violins, so he hadn't heard it.

_We need 2 do sumthin soon b/c he's goin to start dating again if she doesn't talk 2 him soon._

"Damn," she muttered.

"You okay?" her stand partner whispered.

"Yeah." She texted Inuyasha back quickly, since the orchestra was getting ready to start playing again. _Don't worry, I'll think of something. Where's Miroku going after class?_

It wasn't until after class was over and nearly everyone had left that Kagome had a chance to check her messages again. She nearly threw the phone across the room when she read what Inuyasha had sent back to her:

_Dunno. Find out._

Too bad Miroku had already left with the pretty redheaded violist with a D-cup bra.

-

-

"You're home early," observed Inuyasha.

"Yeah, well, Darlene had to get to her waitressing job."

"_Darlene_?" Inuyasha said.

"Yeah. That hot redheaded violist from NYU."

"The bimbo?"

"She's not so stupid. You only have to repeat your sentences once or twice before she understands."

"Unlike Sango, who could fire comebacks without thinking."

Inuyasha took Miroku's deliberate silence to mean that it had definitely been the wrong thing to say. "So… uh… where are you off to now?"

-

-

Kagome was checking the time on her phone every two minutes. She was stuck in an atrocious line at the bank because some imbecile was trying to transfer an account from a different bank location—and, apparently, a different bank altogether. She was six people away from the counter and aside from the five dollars in her jeans pocket, was flat broke.

Weighing her options, she finally dialed Sango from her speed dial.

She answered after the first ring. "_What._"

"Jesus. Don't snap at me."

"Sorry. What's up?"

"I'm stuck in a ridiculously long line at the bank, but I really need to go shopping for Inuyasha's Christmas present. I've got—what—two weeks left?"

"Something like that."

"You wanna come with? What are you doing right now?"

"I'm still in the orchestra room."

"Really?"

"Yeah, well, I couldn't really leave seeing as The Asshole and his redheaded slut were making out right outside the door. Though I would have absolutely loved to knock them over with the door, I still do have consideration."

Kagome winced. This was going from bad to worse. Miroku was obviously on a die-hard rebound, and now Sango was seething. "Understandable. Do you still want to come shopping?"

On the other end of the line, Sango sighed. "Sure. Why not?"

"All right, cool, I'll call you when I'm done," said Kagome brightly. "Want to meet at the usual place?"

"Fine."

The line disconnected.

Kagome shoved her phone back in her pocket and regarded the line in front of her which had not moved an inch. The man at the front desk was still arguing with the attendant.

_Sounds like a good time for a game of Tetris._

-

-

"You're going to do _what_?" Inuyasha spluttered.

"You heard me. It's my new seasonal job," said Miroku.

"What, modeling and NYU wasn't paying enough?"

"Did you see our electric bill this month? You either need to learn to wear a parka inside, or get used to the idea that a heater costs money."

"Whatever, man, I pay my share. It isn't my fault you chose to be a musician. I told you a business major would be more practical."

"Ancient judo fighting lessons just barely fall under the _business major_ category."

"Hey, I run the dojo. Or will. As soon as the old man croaks and leaves it to me."

"Nice, Inuyasha."

He shrugged. "Hey, it's the truth."

Miroku finished dressing and looked at himself in the mirror. "Does this look authentic?"

Inuyasha bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Uh."

"Close enough," Miroku said, turning from side to side. "You sure you don't want to come and help?"

"I'm playing at the bar again tonight."

"Right. Find yourself some food I won't be home until the mall closes."

"Later. Don't get peed on by too many little kids."

"Shut _up_."

-

-

By the time Kagome called, Sango had already run back to her apartment, stopped at the coffee shop down the street for a free one-ounce sample, and walked around the block twice.

"Sorry that took me so long," Kagome had said. "I'd almost beaten my high score on Tetris by the time I got to the front of the line."

"I don't even want to know." Sango paused for a minute, and then curiosity got the best of her. "When did you reach your high score?"

"During Beethoven's fifth symphony that one time at rehearsal."

"Figures."

_Everything I think about ends up coming back to him_, she thought in frustration. _It's_ _cold outside_ shifted to _I want coffee_ which reminded her of hot chocolate, which made her think of Miroku…

She ducked inside the shopping mall on the corner, brushing the small flakes of snow off her shoulders.

Kagome appeared, brandishing a cup of hot green tea. "There you are. I thought you'd forgotten."

"I hung around in the orchestra room a little longer after class today." _Until Miroku cleared out of the hallway with that bimbo he was talking to._ "Let's go; Inuyasha is not an easy person to shop for."

"Tell me about it."

They started walking down the corridor, pausing in front of shop windows from time to time.

"Do you think cologne is too cliché?" asked Kagome.

"It says, 'you smell—and not in a good way.'"

"Leather jacket?"

"Do you have that kind of money?"

"Book?"

"Inuyasha _reads_?"

"Movie."

"Boring."

"Sexy lingerie?"

Sango stared at Kagome. "Why would you give that to _him_?"

"So he could dress me in it?"

"TMI," said Sango, shuddering. "Please remind me never to accompany you while shopping for your boyfriend."

"Did I tell you what he did the other day? Kikyou slithered up to him while he was playing his bass at that bar and was doing her whole 'oh-poor-me-I-was-broken-hearted-by-my-new-boyfriend' move again, and he completely ignored her. _Completely._"

"Really," Sango said suspiciously.

"Yes."

"He didn't say a word to her?"

"Aside from '_fuck off, bitch,'_ no."

"Oh. Well that's even better. Hey, congratulations, that's almost as big as a proposal of marriage." Miroku's face popped into her mind again, but she stubbornly pushed it away.

"I know," said Kagome, beaming.

_She really loves him. And he loves her back._

Sango took another sip of her green tea.

_Lucky._

"Aw, look at all those kids lined up to see Santa Claus," Kagome cooed, marriage and children clearly still on her mind. "Sango, let's tell Santa what we want for Christmas!"

"Kagome, you still don't know what you're going to get Inuyasha."

"Well, maybe Santa could give me some tips. He looks pretty young, after all."

"He looks like one of the guys that would grope you while you're telling him what you want. There's a _reason_ only little children sit on Santa's lap."

"You're such a cynic. Come on, will you at least take a picture of me sitting on his lap? I could give it to Inuyasha for kicks."

"Kagome," groaned Sango. She really wasn't in the mood for her friend's antics tonight. She was tired, cold, still in love with Miroku (who had stopped trying to reconcile with her), and she had a paper cut on her pinky finger.

Hey, it hurt like hell. And it was just one more thing that added to her misery.

"_Please_, Sango?" begged Kagome.

"Whatever," said Sango, annoyed. "Let's get this over with."

"Thanks!" Kagome bounced over to the end of the line, dragging Sango with her. "This is going to be so much fun; I haven't done this since I was a kid."

Sango grunted.

The line to sit on Santa's lap was enormous, snaking down the entire hallway and around the corner. Kids were bouncing around, having lightsaber fights, shouting, playing tag, and—of course—crying like there was no tomorrow over the lack of present, annoying siblings, hunger, sleep-deprivation, or bladder issues.

Sango massaged her temples. _See? There are benefits to being single. No crying machines you have to take care of day and night._

"Aww, aren't they cute?" cooed Kagome. She smiled cheerily down at the little girl in front of them, who'd been sobbing over her brother's teasing—but smiled tentatively back at Kagome with a gap-toothed grin.

"You are so domestic," Sango told her.

"Yeah, I know."

They slowly inched towards the front of the line, and once the two twin Chinese girls had finished (and their father had effectively used an entire roll of film on them). Sango thought Kagome was going to burst with excitement when it was their turn; she stepped out of the way so Kagome could rush onto the quite young-looking Santa's lap…but instead found herself propelled forward by a shove of her best friend's hands.

"Kagome, what the—" She nearly _fell_ into Santa's lap, had he not reached out to steady her. "Thanks," she told him, shooting a look toward Kagome. "My friend is psycho." She started to walk back into line, but Kagome was telling her with frantic hand motions to stop.

"Come on," Kagome said. "Don't be such a spoilsport. Just do it for fun!"

Rolling her eyes, Sango complied. "Santa," she said, snaking her arms around his neck, "what I want for Christmas is a restraining order on my best friend."

The people near the front of the line all laughed. Kagome grinned good-naturedly.

"Sorry, little lady, but no can do." The hands around her waist tightened and she was pulled closer to his chest. "Though I'd be quite happy to oblige you in a different way."

Sango's jaw dropped.

Kagome winced. "Oh god."

Sango was staring right into Miroku's eyes.

-

-

-

_Author's note_: I lied. One more chapter after this to go. However, it is halfway written now, so it should be posted by the end of the week. Sincere apologies for the obscene wait for this chapter, senior year and graduation was crazy. But I'm off to UF next year (go gators!) and I'll keep writing, hopefully finish up those other two stories I have waiting to be completed… Hope you enjoyed this chapter, hang on a bit more for the next one!


	9. Movement IX: Finale

**Cacophony**

**-x-**

**Movement IX: _Finale_**

-

-

"And what would your name be, lovely lady?" Miroku in full-Santa Claus regalia asked.

"You know quite well what my name is," hissed Sango. If not for his iron-tight grip on her waist, she would have run away by now. But struggling to get off Santa's lap would probably not be the best way to start a kid's Christmas season.

"Ho, ho, ho, I'm afraid I don't remember you… perhaps you weren't quite such a good girl in the past."

"Yeah, well, I've had a lot of experience with scumbag men that make me do bad things I normally wouldn't do."

"Maybe it was more your fault than theirs."

"My ass."

"—is enough to drive men crazy, but not enough to bring a certain man back."

"A certain confused man who doesn't know what the hell he wants."

"He knows exactly what he wants, but the object of his affection is a coldhearted bi— uh…" His eyes strayed to the masses of little kids surrounding them—"female dog that is afraid of letting herself love."

"She's afraid of getting herself _hurt_."

"And Miroku is equivalent with hurt?"

"Apparently." Her eyes flashed. "Maybe I should let that redheaded bimbo in on my secret before she finds her heart broken."

His grip around her waist tightened so much she was afraid of bruising. "You," he said menacingly, "have _no_ right to talk about my love life after what you did."

"What _I_ did? Have we forgotten what _you_ did? I knew getting involved with competition would turn out badly, I knew I'd get my heart broken—"

"What I find very interesting," said Miroku, "is that this is all about you. Your ego bruised. Your heart broken. No thought to how I might be feeling right now, to have a woman I am completely in love with refuse to speak to me. It's _you_ that thinks of this relationship as dangerous because we're competitors—I never thought of you as my competition, as my rival: I put it past me. Because of you." His eyes shimmered with anger. "Obviously you didn't feel the same way I did."

"That's—are you calling me selfish?" _In love?_

"Still thinking about your self. I think someone," he said loudly, "needs to learn the meaning of Christmas before she finds a lump of coal in her stocking."

A group of little kids giggled and whispered, "Oooh."

Miroku lifted her off his lap and set her on the ground. "Bye Sango."

She stood staring at him. "Wait."

He ignored her and opened his arms to the next little girl who charged onto his lap. "Have you been good this year?"

The girl nodded solemnly.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked.

"No, I have a husband!" she chirped, lisping slightly. It sounded more like _huthband_.. "We got married in the first grade and we're still married now in the second grade. I see him every day before school and he carries my lunchbox home after school is out."

Miroku's mouth twitched. "Have you told him you loved him?"

She nodded again, her eyes wide. "Every day after recess."

"Let me ask you a question," said Miroku conspiratorially. "Let's say you boyfriend got an A on his math test and you got a B. Would you be mad at him?"

"He never gets As," she giggled.

"Say he did," Miroku urged. "Would you be mad at him?"

The girl considered. "Maybe a little? I would be proud of him, though."

"Good." Miroku looked over at Sango pointedly.

_Two can play that game._ "Do you play any sports, sweetie?" Sango asked the girl.

"I play softball," she answered. "Second base."

"What if you lost a softball game to him? Then would you be angry?"

"Boys don't play softball," she scoffed.

"Baseball then," conceded Sango.

"Girls don't play baseball either!"

"_Theoretically_," she said through clenched teeth, trying to ignore Miroku's snorts of humor. "Wouldn't you be a little bit angry that he beat you in the sport that you love, that you've dedicated your life to, that is your passion and means of earning a living?"

The little girl stared at her. "I don't love it _that_ much."

Sango rolled her eyes heavenward. "Never mind." She turned on her heel and marched away without even waiting for Kagome.

"Ho ho ho!" Miroku called after her.

Knowing that she would go to hell for all of eternity for doing so in front of a mall full of children, Sango stuck her hand—and her middle finger—in the air without even breaking her stride.

-

-

"You probably shouldn't have done that," Kagome said, though she was holding back giggles.

"Whatever," said Sango sullenly.

"Especially in front of all those kids."

"Right, like they never watch cable TV."

"How much you wanna bet at least fifty parents are going to sue the mall and complain about Miroku as Santa?"

"Good, I hope he gets his ass fired."

Kagome sighed. "You're really mad at him, aren't you."

Sango gave her a look. "Duh."

"He really loves you, you know."

"BS," she muttered, although her stomach clenched at the words. What if he really did… love her?

_Get real. This is Miroku we're talking about._

"You really look terrible," Kagome said concernedly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"Okay! I'm not! I'm still bloody in love with him, but I can't tell him that because… because…"

"You're afraid of getting hurt again?" suggested Kagome gently.

"Maybe. I don't know. Forget it. It's over. He's already found a replacement for me."

"Sango." Kagome grabbed her arm and stopped them in the middle of the walkway. "Are you serious?"

"You saw that redhead. She's gorgeous. And funny. And a great musician."

"Just like you! And at least you can speak intelligently. He's so in love with you he's trying to dull the pain _you_ caused him by going out with another girl."

"Oh right, that makes perfect sense."

"It does! Like… see that guy over there checking you out?"

Sango looked around. "Where?"

"You are so subtle," said Kagome sarcastically. "Over by the cell phone booth."

"The hot one?"

"As I am currently dating an extremely jealous man, I am not allowed to let those words leave my lips. But yes. What you said."

Sango pursed her lips. "I think I've seen him before."

"We live in a city a mile long, of course you have. But as I was saying, if Miroku didn't talk to you for three weeks, would you go out with that guy to dull the pain?"

Sango considered. "Hm. Yeah. I see your point. Hey, he's coming this way!"

"Who, Miroku?" Kagome looked around in bewilderment.

"No, the Cell Phone Booth guy." Sango smoothed her hair nervously. "Maybe we should get out of here. What if he's a rapist? Maybe that's where I've seen him before!"

"What, while you were getting raped?"

Sango jabbed Kagome with her elbow. "Funny. No, I meant on a 'wanted for rape' poser or something."

"Geez, say that a little louder, I don't think he heard you at all."

Apparently he hadn't, because he strode right up to Sango and smiled tentatively. "Sango?"

Sango shot him a questioning look. "Yes… do I know you?"

"You played your cello in my cousin's wedding about a year ago—remember? We started to dance dirty before we realized the entire wedding party was southern Baptist?"

Sango stared at him, then burst out laughing. "I do remember that! You had that cool name—Kuranosuke?"

He grinned widely. "I'm surprised you remembered it."

"No, not at all…" He was even more hot when he smiled.

Kagome was looking at the two of them nervously. "Uh, Sango? We've got class in about half an hour…"

Sango looked at her as if she was crazy. "No we don't. Classes finished at noon today."

Kagome could have smacked her hand to her forehead. "Well, _I _need to get going. Inuyasha's expecting me home for dinner. It's getting late."

"Oh yeah, it is," Kuranosuke said, looking at his watch. "Nearly seven."

"Wow," Sango joined in.

Kuranosuke smiled at her. "Would you like to join me for a quick dinner, before I have to get to work? For old time's sake?" He glanced at Kagome. "You're welcome to come too if you want."

"Thanks, but I'm cooking for my boyfriend tonight," she said coolly.

"Oh, too bad." His head swiveled back to Sango. "So what do you say?"

"Well… sure," she said, shrugging. "Why not?"

"_Sango_," Kagome ground out.

"Yeah? Don't worry, Kagome, I'll be fine. Go have fun with your boyfriend. I'll be back later tonight."

Kuranosuke hooked his arm through hers and smiled politely at Kagome. "Nice meeting you."

"The pleasure's all mine."

Sango smiled reassuringly at her friend. "I'll see you later, Kags."

"Count on it."

Kagome watched helplessly as Sango and Kuranosuke ambled away, arm in arm. _Oh Sango… this is bad. You are Miroku are so stubborn—you're perfect for each other. Why can't you two see that?_

Rubbing her forehead wearily, she speed-dialed Inuyasha. "Baby? We've got a problem."

-

-

"So how are your studies going?" Kuranosuke asked interestedly, spearing a piece of his chicken Caesar salad.

"Well. I'm a cello performance major, so I spend a lot of time at the music department."

"That's great. I remember you playing really well at the wedding… when the bride was walking down the aisle, staring at the groom and your music was playing in the background… it was perfect." He flushed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to ramble on."

"It's okay. Music does that too you."

"Yeah. Actually—" he grinned self-consciously—"after meeting you, I started taking guitar lessons from my friend."

"No, really?"

"Yeah. I like it a lot. It's my dad's guitar—he died last year—so it's even more meaningful."

"Oh… I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. It was his time to go. He and my mom had me when they were both in their forties, so he was old."

"Wow."

"Yeah." He smiled again, and Sango found herself staring. He was one of those rare cases of Asian with light brown hair. Mixed with his dark brown eyes and white smile, he was somewhat mesmerizing to stare at.

_Nothing like Miroku's eyes though._

She shook her head violently. "Don't think about him," she instructed herself under her breath.

Kuranosuke shot her a quizzical look. "Everything okay?"

"Yup. Fine. Great. How's your salad?"

"Rather wilted, to be frank. How's your steak?"

"Um." She honestly hadn't tasted a bit of it. "Steaky."

He laughed hard. "Sango, you're a trip."

She started to laugh too, although she couldn't help but notice how his laugh was kind of high-pitched and whiney.

_Yeah, that's real nice. Way to be judgmental._

"So what are you majoring in? Or wait, have you graduated already?"

"Last year. I've just joined the Schinintai Law firm a few months ago. It's going great; the guys there are really supportive."

"Oh really? You're a lawyer?"

"Yep. But I promise I'm not a scumbag." He winked at her.

Sango giggled. Winking was something reserved for old cheesy blank-and-white films, but when Kuranosuke could actually pull it off. It was kind of… endearing.

_Endearing? Is this what you're going to settle for? With Miroku you had amazing, and you're going with endearing?_

Sango grabbed her bread and ripped hunk of with her teeth.

Kuranosuke looked slightly alarmed, but recomposed himself nicely. "You like bread, eh?"

"Love it," she said, chewing slowly yet ferociously.

"You should come over for dinner sometime, I'll make you some bread from scratch."

"Really? You cook?"

"Little hobby of mine," he said, shrugging modestly.

A little too modestly. As if he _expected_ to be praised and was giving the habitual and courteous response. Nothing like—

"So! How's your sex life been lately?" Sango asked brightly.

In an unfortunately ill-timed lull in conversation. Cheeks burning as couple's heads around the restaurant turned towards her, she immediately began to turn her head from side to side, too, as if also looking for the loud brass woman.

Kuranosuke's mouth had fallen open, but now he chuckled nervously to try and lighten the mood. "Well, not so great as of two months ago—I just split up with my girlfriend so…" He shrugged.

"Oh. Well, that's good."

He winked again. "And you?"

"Um." Right, how fair would it be to ask a really personal (if unintended) question and then not respond when it was thrown back at her? "To be honest, my boyfriend and I were having some problems about a month ago so… yeah…" She trailed off.

Kuranosuke nodded knowingly. "I know how that goes."

"Hm." Sango was already lost in another world, one where Miroku sitting across from her smiling, just like it had been.

It was Kuranosuke who suggested they take a walk down to the Rockefeller Center to watch the ice skaters. Sango should've been thrilled; for once a _man_ asked her to take a walk, not the other way around. But then he ruined it by trying to take her arm.

She shook him off, not too subtly, and he gave her a _look_ which made her immediately feel bad.

_Why should you feel bad? You met him today! Sort of. Okay, you met him for the second time. He has no right to try and use a possessive gesture on you._

His hand slid to her waist and he leaned in intimately to whisper in her ear, "You want to go skating?" like it was some kind of secret.

"Sure," she said loudly. Just to piss him off.

To his credit, he didn't show any annoyance. "Good," he said, shooting her a dazzling smile.

_Doesn't anything deter this guy? Is he even human?_

He was now pulling her toward the ice skate rental stand, his arm tucked casually in the small of her back. "Two pairs please," he said, tossing his credit card to the shaggy-haired blonde kid behind the counter who looked as if he had an open manga stashed between the cash register and the paperwork.

The kid apathetically looked at the credit card and slowly brought it to his face to study. "This creeeedit or deeebit?" he drawled.

"Credit," Kuranosuke said breezily.

The kid's bloodshot eyes shifted from Sango to Kuranosuke. _High,_ Sango thought in amusement.

"You two are… togeeeether?" the kid asked, referring to the method of payment.

Kuranosuke looked down at Sango. "I certainly hope so," he said, ducking down for a quick kiss on the lips.

The kid blinked slowly, his expression not changing in the slightest.

The couple behind them cooed in appreciation.

Kuranosuke began to smile, the corners of his mouth twitching as if being tugged upward by some invisible force.

It was at this point that Sango lost control of her body.

-

The slap she through would have sent Kuranosuke reeling, had he not grabbed her arm the moment before her arm just in time.

"I'm sorry," he said before she could even open her mouth. "Am I moving too fast for you?" He didn't let go of her arm, but instead began to massage it gently.

Sango instinctively jerked her arm out of his grasp. "I don't even _know_ you."

"Dude." The high kid nodded appreciatively. "Way to go, man."

"Sango," Kuranosuke laughed, a little incredulously. "We go way back."

"A wedding. Dinner together. That's not 'way back'."

"Sorry. I didn't think you'd react this badly to touching." He looked at her curiously. "Was it a bad breakup?"

"Um. Yeah. Yeah, it was pretty bad." What was wrong with her?

"I thought so," he said sympathetically.

She stepped backwards. "I need to go. Go… do something."

Kuranosuke was staring at her, completely baffled. "What's the matter with you?"

_That's what I'd like to know. But for some reason, I'm just really freaked out right now._ "I'm sorry. I have to go."

Though he was clearly confused, he wasn't about to make a scene in which he turned out the loser. "All right. I'll call you."

"Do you have my number?"

"No, but you have mine. You got it the night of the wedding remember?"

"Oh yeah… right." _If I didn't delete it already._ "I'll, um, call you later."

"I'll have my phone," he assured her. "Take care."

"Yeah. Yeah, you too." She turned and took off in a run in the direction from which they had come.

Kuranosuke watched her run, scratching his head.

"Dude," the kid said, "that chick looks _way_ too HM, if you know what I mean."

"High maintenance?"

"Nawww… hugely maddening."

Kuranosuke just shook his head and began to walk in the opposite direction.

-

-

Sango was running faster than she thought possible. She had a cramp in her side, and her feet were killing her—sprinting in platforms was not the best idea—but she knew it was only one thing that gave her strength to move so quickly. She didn't know why, but she had to see Miroku again. It was like some force was compelling her to reach him, and there was nothing that could stand in her way—

She winced and doubled over, clutching her stomach.

Okay, well maybe one thing.

_I really need to get into shape._

Wouldn't that be ironic? Not being able to tell the love of her life the truth because she couldn't run fast enough?

_I had to be a musician._

Settling to walk at a comparable pace, she nonetheless counted every second that passed before she reached the shopping mall again.

_I have to tell Miroku that I love him._

It took being around another man—a kind, gentle man who could probably treat her very well—to figure out exactly what she wanted.

She wanted Miroku.

And she was going to go through hell to get him back.

-

-

_Please, please, PLEASE still let him be here_, she chanted over and over in her mind, dodging through the crowds of people towards the semi-large gallery in the center of the mall where Santa Claus sat in his plush red velvet chair.

Panting heavily, she grabbed the stitch in her side. She could see him now, still in full Santa gear, sitting in front of the giant Christmas tree…

…and in front of an even more enormous line.

Halting to a stop, she sucked in gulps of air, assessing the situation. Should she cut the entire line and ruin some poor kid's Christmas? Or wait her turn—looking like an extreme nerd—and possibly not get a chance to tell him before he went on break?

The Christmas spirit got the better of her and she stepped into line, chewing on her thumbnail anxiously. _If he gets up to leave, I'll just run after him._

She waited through the agonizingly long line, fearful the whole time that Miroku would get up and leave. She watched child after child perch on his knee and pour our their secret hopes and wishes and each time she wanted _so badly_ to be right there—

_Why was I so stupid? Why didn't I realize how much he meant to me before?_

Four more kids to go. The sullen boy in the baseball cap smiled grimly at his mother, who was snapping away pictures as if the camera would self-destruct in five seconds.

_He's so perfect for me—I mean, he himself isn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination—_

Three more kids to go. The twin girls kissed his cheek simultaneously.

—_but he makes me happy. Happier than I'd been in a long time—_

Two more kids to go. The girl actually had to consult her PDA so as not to forget a single thing she wanted for Christmas.

—_and that's really saying something. He makes me laugh. He _understands _me. _

One more kid to go. The boy was rattling off the list of monster trucks he wanted at an amazing rate. His lips were barely moving he was talking so fast.

_Oh god. What if I've effed this up?_

The boy was still talking as his dad dragged him off Miroku's lap.

The air suddenly felt as if it had been converted into nitrogen instead of oxygen. Sango swallowed the lump in her throat and walked towards the chair. Her hair was sticking out all over the place, and she was still sweaty from running but she had to tell him, she _had_ to tell—

Her eyes met his and she nearly fell over in shock.

Those weren't Miroku's eyes.

That wasn't Miroku.

"What the _hell_?" she spluttered, still a foot away from the chair.

A surprised Inuyasha in a Santa suit was looking at her suspiciously. "God, Sango, I didn't know you still believe in Santa."

"Where the fuck is Miroku?" she snarled.

His eyes widened. "Language!" he snapped. "You've got kids listening!"

"Where. Is. Miroku?"

"Left about an hour ago to go do some emergency modeling shoot. Why the hell else do you think I'm sitting here in some stupid mall playing Santa Claus?"

"No…" she whispered.

"Sorry. Did you want to tell him something?" He looked at her carefully.

"No." She bit her lip. "It wasn't important."

Inuyasha shrugged. "Well, you could try his cell phone, but I doubt he'll be answering it. He's pretty serious about his photography work."

"Yeah… I know…"

"You're holding up the line," Inuyasha said gently. "Do you want to sit on my lap anyway?"

"No," said Sango, smiling bravely. "I don't think Kagome would like that too much. I'll—I'll see you around, Inuyasha."

She turned and walked away, swiping at her eyes and then stuffing her hands in her coat pockets.

Inuyasha watched her retreat and twisted around to peer behind the giant chair he was sitting on. "You owe me, man."

Miroku, who was hidden behind the enormous back of the chair, looked like he was in physical pain. "I know. Thanks."

Inuyasha starched his chin, inadvertently setting the beard askew. "I think I'm going to regret this."

"Believe me," Miroku said, his voice dripping with bitterness, "this is for the best."

Inuyasha sighed and turned back around, pulling the next kid onto his lap. "God bless us, every one."

-

-

Kagome poked her head in the doorway. "Um…what are you doing?"

Sango jumped guiltily, hiding the knife behind her back. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Kagome raised an eyebrow. "You're making cookies."

"I am not."

"You are. I see the dirty dishes behind you."

Sango scowled. "Okay. Fine. I'm making cookies. What of it?"

"You only make cookies when you're horribly upset."

"I do not. I cook a lot."

"You never cook."

"I make cookies about once a month!"

"When you're trying to forget about a man."

"I'm not thinking about Miroku!"

"Oh sweetie." Kagome wrapped her in a big bear hug, although she was nearly six inches shorter than her best friend. "I'm sorry. You really love him, don't you?"

"No. I don't. I hate him." But she was already crying.

"Shh, shh. I know. It's okay."

"It's not! I love him and tried to go back and tell him, but he had left an hour earlier to go do some emergency photo shoot and I don't know when he's coming back so I can tell him and now all I can think about is him and—and—and I'm a mess," she sobbed.

Kagome looked puzzled. "An emergency photo shoot?"

"Yeah. I don't know. I guess he really wanted to get out of town." Sango sniffed loudly. "I really screwed up, Kagome."

"No… there was just a serious lack of communication between you two."

"That's for sure. And there still is." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I need to get back to my cookies. They're about to burn."

"Don't shove your feelings down inside of you."

"Why not? It hurts a hell of a lot less if I don't think about it." She swiped at the dirty bowl and stuck her finger in her mouth. "Want one when they come out? I added some more vanilla this time; they should turn out good."

Kagome shook her head. "Sure. Why not?"

"Cool." Sango turned back to her dirty pots and pans and carried them over to the sink.

Kagome pulled her phone out and quietly began to text her boyfriend. He had some explaining to do.

-

-

Inuyasha threw his cell phone at Miroku's head.

Miroku, who had been staring out the window at the time, fell off his chair on impact. "What the hell was that for, you bastard!"

"She was going to tell you she loved you," Inuyasha growled. "If you had just listened to her, instead of hiding like a coward—"

"Look, I'm over it. I don't need this. She's more trouble than it's worth."

"You don't mean that."

"Does this look like a face that's joking?" Miroku chucked the phone back towards Inuyasha; although his roommate had better reflexes than he. "That girl has caused me more pain in three weeks than I have ever felt in my life. In my _life._ That is not something I need to stay involved with."

"She also caused you more _happiness_ in two months than you had ever felt in your life."

"The cons are outweighing the pros at this point."

"Give her another chance."

"I did. She blew it. End of story."

"You're digging your own grave."

"Better dead than suffering." He got to his feet. "I'm going for a walk."

"You do that. And make sure it ends at Sango's apartment."

Miroku slammed the door behind him.

Inuyasha got up to go find himself a beer. It was hard enough dealing with his own love life—but dealing with Miroku's too was enough to drive anyone to drink.

-

-

Sango was sitting on the couch pigging out on potato chips and watching _The Price is Right_ (while her philosophy textbook sat not-so-invitingly in front of her) when the doorbell rang.

"It's open," she called, thinking it was Kagome, who had run down to the drugstore a few minutes earlier.

The door opened.

Sango leapt to her feet. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"Uh… well… thank you that's very nice—" she kicked the bowl of chips under the couch with her foot—"Kuranosuke. How did you get my address?"

"Asked around NYU's school of music. Wasn't too hard of a search."

"Oh. Yeah." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. She'd never called him back like she'd promised. "Well…since you went through all this trouble to find this place, would you like a tour?"

"Actually," he said, surprising her, "I'd rather take you to see a movie, if that's okay." He must have seen the look that crossed her face, because he quickly added, "Just as friends. I'm kind of bored today and wanted to spend it with a good conversationalist." He smiled at her easily. "How does that sound to you?"

She found herself smiling tentatively back. "Sure. Why not?"

-

-

"I'm going to get some popcorn," Kuranosuke whispered as they snuck into the theater just as the previews were ending. "You want something to drink too?"

"Just water."

"All right. Stick your purse in my seat, we're not giving up these babies."

Chuckling, Sango obeyed. They'd snagged the last two seats available. She settled down into her seat and began to watch the opening of the movie.

Kuranosuke returned a few minutes later, a large bag of popcorn in his hands. Sango waited until he sat down to try and go for the popcorn. It was so dark that she was afraid she'd miss the bag when reaching for the popcorn. "Did you get the buttery kind?" she whispered.

"Yep," he whispered back, his mouth already full of popcorn. Sango smothered a smile; it sounded like he was lisping almost..

They watched the opening of the movie, in which the male love interest was staring dreamily after some absolutely gorgeous blonde—while a more conservative, yet still attractive brunette was working a cash register in the same restaurant.

"He wants the blonde, but unknowingly falls for the brunette in the process—all the while making stupid and hurtful decisions, although in the end, the brunette will still fall in love with him," said Kuranosuke. "Does that sound about right?"

"Something like that," Sango replied, annoyed. "Just watch the movie—you could still be surprised."

"I doubt it," he said. "Relationships are all the same anyway."

"Oh really?" He was right about the movie though—it was already so cliché that Sango didn't feel badly about pursing this conversation in lieu of the film they paid seven whole dollars for.

"Really. Boy meets girl. Boy is attracted to girl and convinces her to go out with him. Girl falls in love, boy falls in love, someone makes a mistake and they break up. The end."

Sango rolled her eyes. "And you think there's no variation to that?"

"Not really. Unless there's a make-up tagged on to the end of that scenario." He paused. "But that part is negotiable."

"Yeah. Depends how badly they effed up."

"Who? The boy or the girl?"

"Does it matter?"

He considered for a minute. "Fair point."

They were quiet for a few more minutes, engaged in the abominably redundant movie. "Are you happy, Sango?" he asked. He was still munching on popcorn.

"God, are you hungry or what?"

"Yes. I am. Are you happy or not?"

"Well, I'm not watching the best of movies right now, but in all honesty, this popcorn is pretty good."

He swallowed and leaned over to whisper in her ear. "I mean about Miroku."

Sango froze, her hand in the middle of grabbing a fistful of popcorn.

Now that he was no longer munching on popcorn while talking, she realized why his voice sounded so different.

Because he wasn't Kuranosuke.

Trembling, she asked Miroku, "What do you want?"

"Just the answer to my question." He slid his hand across the small of her back. "Are you happy?"

"Happy is such a relative term," she said slowly, to disguise the tremor in her voice.

"In relative terms then," he said, his other hand sliding across her stomach. "Because I have been absolutely miserable with you—"

"—to warm your bed?" she asked sharply, trying to ignore the touch of his hands.

"No. If that's what I wanted, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd be in bed with some slut who was willing to sleep with anyone remotely attractive." The weight of his hand suddenly lifted off her stomach and back and moved to her face. He turned her head so that she was facing him, staring into his eyes.

"Have you been as miserable as me?" he asked softly.

She blinked rapidly. "Probably more."

"Don't cry." He wiped away the lone tear that had escaped. "I don't think I've slept for a month."

"Me neither."

"Every other woman I meet I end up comparing to you."

"Every other man makes me so depressed all I can do is run away."

"I'm so in love with you that I can't think about anything else."

"I'm—" she stopped. "You're what?"

"I should've told you earlier. I was afraid of getting too attached—but then I got attached anyway and look what happened. You broke my heart."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so, so sorry. I overreacted to _nothing_ and you were right it was just my damn pride and I was so afraid I'd fucked it up completely—"

He cut off her words with a familiar searing kiss that made her tears flow faster. He kissed every one of them away. "I missed you. So much. You weren't answering my calls. I thought I'd lost you forever."

"I'm sor—"

"It doesn't matter." He was kissing her again and again. "Not anymore." He pulled back abruptly. "Just—just don't do it again."

"I won't."

"Sango. Listen. I can't stop playing my cello."

"I don't want you to stop."

"But… I'll stop playing gigs for you," he said hesitantly. "If you want. I can make a decent living off photography."

"No," she said, kissing him this time. "Keep doing your gigs. I can handle it. It's New York City, there's enough work for the both of us."

"Then why are we both starving musicians?" he murmured, brushing her hair out of her face.

"That's because we haven't knocked the rest of the competition out of the running yet."

"Oh," he smirked then dived in for more.

Neither of them saw any more of the two-hour movie. And neither of them really cared.

Nor did Kuranosuke, who was currently unconscious, stuffed in the trashcan just outside of the theater.

-

-

It seemed fitting that the very next night, the movie _In the Shadows_ was re-released into the $.50 theatres across town. It was dubbed "the worst movie of the year" by critics, but for some inexplicable reason, it is a fact that people love to see _bad_ movies. Whether it's to make fun of the horror in its entirety or merely because seeing the word "pointless" personified gives their lives new meaning, the movie had raked in billions of dollars.

"You two have a sick sense of humor," Inuyasha remarked, channel surfing.

"We're not going to watch the movie," said Miroku.

"We're just going to listen to the soundtrack," Sango finished. "To commemorate our—uh—"

"—reconciliation?" suggested Miroku.

"Idiocy," muttered Inuyasha.

"Inu_yasha_," Kagome remonstrated from the bedroom.

"Sorry," he called back, unrepentantly.

"What are you guys doing tonight anyway?" Sango asked from her place on the floor. Miroku was sitting on the couch next to Inuyasha, tickling his girlfriend with his foot.

"We're going ice skating at the Rockefeller Center," grunted Inuyasha. "Kagome's idea."

Sango squirmed.

Miroku looked down at her curiously. "What?"

"Nothing. I didn't know you could ice skate, Inuyasha."

"Played ice hockey in high school." He looked uncomfortable talking about the subject. "Shouldn't you two be leaving about now?"

Miroku looked at his watch. "Yeah, probably. Ready, baby?"

"Mmm. I think you're going to have to carry me."

"Fat chance. Get up, lazy."

She looked up at him indignantly, but he just laughed and pulled her to her feet, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Let's go," he said.

"You're just lucky I took you back," she accused.

Fully expecting a retort, she was surprised when he merely smiled and said, "I know."

-

-

It took them a full hour to walk to the $.50 theater—it was all the way across town, and although they could have easy taken the subway or a bus and cut the time in half, it seemed more appropriate to walk.

Laughing and joking the entire way, swooping from topic to topic, singing all the songs they knew in different keys—Sango felt as if she had just jumped from hell to heaven, completely bypassing purgatory.

They reached the theater about five minutes late, and because it was so tiny, there was literally only one seat left—in the very first row.

"Do you want to just leave?" Sango whispered, as Miroku dragged her towards the seat.

"Not on your life. I promise you this will be good."

"What are you going to do, sit on the floor by my feet?"

"Hell no." Miroku sat down in the seat and then pulled her onto his lap. "See? Perfect."

"Are you _serious_? Your legs are going to fall asleep even before your brain does."

"Nah, I have high tolerance."

"Plus, the people behind us are going to be pissed."

She and Miroku glanced backwards and realized that wouldn't be a problem.

"They even lowered the armrest," Miroku said, his mouth twitching.

Sango couldn't help staring in amazement. "What would it be like to tell your kid 'oh honey, you were conceived during the worst film of the year'?"

Miroku snorted with mirth and couldn't stop laughing for a long time. "I kind of want to tell my kid that. You wanna get started now?"

Sango poked him hard in the stomach. "Horny bastard."

He just pulled her closer.

-

The movie was horrific, as expected—it was as if the directors had recruited the worst actors in the soap opera industry—but Miroku and Sango amused themselves by picking out the players in the music.

"Kagome sounds awesome there," whispered Sango, as they actress stared forlornly through a window of her ex-boyfriend's house, while standing in the rain. "I think that was a bad reed day too; that's amazing."

They were both silent when their duet started to play from the speakers. Miroku gently put his hand over her eyes and pulled her head against his chest. "Don't watch," he said.

"I know. Just listen."

They listened in silence as their two instruments played against each other, winding through notes and melodies—as if it was Sango and Miroku themselves, contained in their instruments, their souls playing the music for each other.

The duet ended shortly—it was only a two-minute interlude—and the actors' lines took precedence over the background music.

Sango tilted her head upward to whisper in Miroku's ear. "You want to leave now?"

"Yeah," he said.

They stood and quickly walked to the door, exiting the theater and walking out into the frosty night air.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, just staring at the clear winter sky. Miroku took Sango's hand a bit later and said, "I'm always going to be here for you."

"I know."

"Forever, I mean."

She looked at him sideways. "That's a pretty lofty promise."

"I mean it though."

"What if we break up?" she asked frankly.

"I'll still be there for you. But I don't think that's going to happen any time soon."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it?"

"Yeah."

She laughed softly. "That sounds so… cynical."

He squeezed her hand. "Not really. I think it's more optimistic than anything."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmhm. How's it feel to know I'll always be there for you? No matter what?"

This should've been depressing. It should have made Sango feel weird. But in reality it made her feel… safe. Happy. Content.

"Good," she said quietly.

He smiled back, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Good," he echoed, entwining his fingers more tightly within hers.

Fittingly, a light turned on in one of the apartments high above them, and through an open window, the sound of a cello floated down, casting a spell over the busy street.

_The End_

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Wow. I honestly cannot believe this story is finished -- thanks for everyone who stuck with this story for two years (geez). I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have to thank Wen (Lady Penguin) and Kip (Solichan), my incredible betas, who were always ready to proofread at the drop of a hat. Also thanks to Margo (Aamalie) for prodding me along in my periods of non-inspiration. And thank youto everyone else who read and reviewed this story. :) Till next time! 


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